


Innovade Operation Manual

by Bulletprccf



Category: Gundam 00
Genre: M/M, Multi, a slice-of-life lgbt+ fic with a slight air of mystery., high school alternate universe., nanowrimo 2020.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26832958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bulletprccf/pseuds/Bulletprccf
Summary: This manual is intended for creators and users of the highly sophisticated computers called Innovades, manufactured by VEDA and placed into this world at strategic points to push humanity toward a more unified front of understanding both themselves and the world around them.Innovades have pre-programmed personalities that are coded toward their individual purposes.  These traits & nuances are reflected in their physical terminals’ appearances, personal beliefs, and attractions.  They express specific childlike interpretations of philosophies and political sciences, since they do not possess the capability to grow and truly understand the world around them.WARNING: do not develop feelings for Innovades.  The units are unable to feel genuine human emotion and will only respond according to their predetermined processes, though their code will attempt to portray realistic personas.-- Charles Ambuscade, v. 1.02.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. In the event of booting.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a love letter to gundam 00, dedicated to yoshiyuki tomino, seiji mizushima, yousuke kuroda, kenji kawai, yun kouga, and hiroshi kamiya.
> 
> thank you for creating a series & a character that changed my life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This manual is intended for creators and users of the highly sophisticated computers called Innovades, manufactured by VEDA and placed into this world at strategic points to push humanity toward a more unified front of understanding both themselves and the world around them.
> 
> Innovades have pre-programmed personalities that are coded toward their individual purposes. These traits & nuances are reflected in their physical terminals’ appearances, personal beliefs, and attractions.
> 
> WARNING: do not develop feelings for Innovades. The units are unable to feel genuine human emotion and will only respond according to their predetermined processes.
> 
> \-- Charles Ambuscade

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

Schenberg Academy for the Gifted is tucked into one of the more well-off neighborhoods in Houston, Texas, as if sponsored by a rich eccentric. The school is designed to “prepare young minds to seek out purposes to better the future of mankind.” That being said, the reclusive headmaster only sends out invitations to prospective students. Once an invitation has been received, the applicant must take tests in areas of philosophy, arts, mathematics, geography, sciences, and logic, in addition to participating in an interview. The process is long, though graduation guarantees acceptance into any profession or university. Required results are unknown to the majority of the public; all academic and physical test scores are erratic and do not have a consistent average. Interview questions are allegedly unique to every applicant. Rumors abound that not even the government knows the selection process nor the full extent of the curriculum, but these rumors have never been proven. Students currently hail from over twenty countries worldwide and all walks of life imaginable, and the school seeks an even more diverse population. Many hackers and army recruiters alike have tried and failed to access student data, resulting in many corrupted systems and threats. The headmaster, Aeolia Schenberg, makes one sole appearance once per year at graduation.

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

Classrooms in the maths wing are typically unlocked early, even if no teacher is present, because the only occupant has a set of keys. It is 7:32 AM on Monday, the first Monday of the school year. New students had received their orientation on Friday, and all last week residents had been moving in to their respective dorms. Today there is an assembly at the end of the day, so all classes are ten minutes shorter, which is how it should be -- first days are always bland, filled with syllabi and introductions and confused-looking freshmen lost in the wrong wing of this building. ‘ _I should suggest to the Student Council that we have a sign made designating directions of the Maths wing and Sciences wing of the East building…_ ’

These thoughts belong to a third-year student seated at the third desk of the row against the windows. They have an intelligent aura about them, dressed in businesslike khakis and a pastel-colored sweater, with one leg crossed atop the other. A pre-calculus textbook lies open in front of them, but their fingers idly fiddle with a page without turning it. Their bespectacled gaze is occupied by the students in the open field behind the building: the marching band has been practicing for a week already, in the early hours of the morning so as to avoid the awful August heat. Specifically, the student’s eyes are drawn to a young man emptying water from his saxophone. He has a curly set of caramel locks, meticulously kept, if not recently brushed, that creep down just past his neck, stopping just short of the middle of his back. Even though it’s roughly ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit outside, he wears a long-sleeved white shirt to keep the unforgiving sun from his fair skin. Someone must call for him, because he trots off to speak to a plain-looking student holding a clarinet, and they dissolve into a discussion with a fair amount of pointing.

A whirl of pale green in front of the ( second-story ) window catches the classroom student’s attention, and they follow the motion-filled blur of color down to the ground. Another student with deep violet hair and red eyes catches the marching flag with a twirled flourish as it falls. The student grins and runs over to the saxophone player, slinging an arm around him and pointing the flag in the direction of the classroom. They both catch the look of the student in the room and wave with slight laughter at them. The student starts a bit, feeling peculiar at being caught staring, and awkwardly raises a hand back at them. The flag corps member giggles and skips off back to their group, and the saxophone player winks in the direction of the classroom. The student up there gives a slight smile and finally returns to the open book in front of them to write their name on the inside cover.

_Tieria Erde_.

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

“Ah -- !”

“Regene, if you keep flopping into the desks like that, you’re going to break one. Don’t you hear that one creaking?”

“The only things that break on these are the baskets from when the ADHD kids put their feet on them. And I’m totally right -- that’s why I sit in the back and you only sit in front of me in like every class.”

“Not _every_ class -- ”

“‘Every’ counts when you have five of seven classes together!”

A sigh.

It is now 10:17 AM. Tieria has had two classes with _Regene Regetta_ already today. This wouldn’t have been notable except…

“Oh, hey; I was wondering if you two would take Japanese again.”

Regene turns, long pendant swinging. The two girls coming into the classroom giggle at his grin. “ _The inseparable, fashionable twins, as always!_ ” Because yes, Regene Regetta and Tieria Erde are identical twins: same claret eyes, same dark violet hair, even same height if they stand together. It remains easy to tell them apart, though, as with a glance anyone can tell Regene pays far more attention to fashion trends than Tieria: he stands with rolled-cuff grey jeans, a lilac-and-white striped sweater with a dark purple pocket on the left breast, white moccasins, a long necklace with a metal wing at the end, and trendy hipster frames around his eyes.

Tieria sighs again at the declaration in Japanese and continues labelling their notebook, tucking a lock of straight hair behind an ear, all but ignoring the conversation beside them. Regene has always been far more of a people person, easily socializing with everyone. It’s easy to see why he was elected as student council vice president, despite there being odd rumors about the twins with different surnames, the twins that always have perfect grades, the twins whose genders are always mixed up, the twins who are strange in the way they’re almost always together. After a couple of invasive questions in their first year, though, the inquiries suddenly stopped, though whispers seem to find their way to Tieria in particular. Nobody in their grade is particularly close to the quieter of the twins, but everyone can agree that they’re always polite and willing to explain an equation after class ( and in most cases, more thoroughly than the teacher did ). Everyone, though, remembers an incident from last year when a maintenance staffer’s daughter confessed in a loud voice to them. The two days following had been the only days Tieria Erde had ever missed classes, saying they felt ill.

When the girls slide into seats toward the front of the classroom, Regene leans against Tieria’s desk. “Mm...we may have to move up. Language classes aren’t required after second year, so this year we probably won’t have many peers.”

“...As long as we’re still in the back you won’t complain, right?”

“And as long as you have your window seat.”

“The natural sunlight works better.”

“I know. You frown a bit in first period whenever the teacher arrives and turns on the lights. I wondered if you still had that habit, because we haven’t had classes for a while, right? And you do.”

“The windows are so large that the overhead fluorescents are unnecessary.”

“Yeah. But the pre-cal teacher is an old coot, so he’s probably really blind.”

“Regene…”

“What? His glasses are _thick_ , all right? Like a pair of magnifying glasses on his nose.”

Distractedly, Tieria murmurs, “Perhaps his nose is so large to support them, then,” while digging through their bag for their highlighter.

Regene smirks and relaxes his posture just a bit. “ _I knew you didn’t like him._ ”

“ _It defeats the purpose of whispering in Japanese in this class, you know._ ”

“ _It’s not like we can do the other thing. Besides, everyone isn’t paying attention to us, anyway, and those two earlier need a long refresher, based on our conversation._ ”

At that moment, a tall blond passes by and jostles Regene roughly. Tieria’s hand darts out to their brother’s elbow just as a hand slaps ungracefully next to Tieria’s newly added highlighter, knocking it to the ground. “Hey, what the hell -- !”

“I said it last year; you two shouldn’t be in here because Japanese is your first language.”

“Japanese isn’t our first language.”

And perhaps because the twins raise their voices a bit, or perhaps because they speak in tandem, the other seven students turn to look back at them.

One of the girls from earlier bites her lip. “Josh, let it go -- ”

“They’re Japanese! It’s not fair.”

“Just because they’re Japanese doesn’t mean they speak it at home! Just -- don’t fuck with them, okay?”

“Gh -- whatever. Damn teacher’s pets.”

Regene runs a hand through his wavy, styled hair, straightens himself out, and crouches to retrieve Tieria’s highlighter from beneath the forward desk. As he places it back near his twin, his finger lingers on the yellow plastic. Tieria glances up.

Faced away from the other students, Regene’s eyes are also yellow.

Leaning to the side slightly to block themself from the others’ view, Tieria allows their eyes to also softly glow.

⌜ _I did say Japanese in this class was a bad idea._ ⌟

⌜ _Point taken._ ⌟

⌜ _I never expected us to be the object of racism, though. If he only knew…_ ⌟

⌜ _Tieria...like the girl said, let it go._ ⌟

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

Fifth period comes before lunch today. Many students rush around and are late to class -- not that many of them are on time for the first couple of days, anyway, but the confusion of an assembly schedule will certainly always make it worse.

Tieria has _all_ the timetables and locations of their classes memorized. Adding to that is the fact that they never stop to speak to others in the hallway aside from the _occasional_ nod of greeting to a fellow honor society member or teacher. Today, however, he checks the blackboard for the title of the classroom after the clock ticks past 11:07 AM. It still reads “Aeronautics” in the teacher’s untidy print, the same as it did at 11:04 AM when they checked before, as it did at 10:58 AM when they checked the first time on arrival.

They glance at the desk in front of them. Only three rows of students attend this class, and the desk where their brown messenger bag occupies the seat will belong to someone else, someone who is _running very late_ \--

Muffled tones come from the hallway. The sharp bark of the academic dean can be heard reprimanding someone, followed by an easygoing apology. The conversation becomes clearer when the door to the classroom opens and the curly-haired saxophone player from this morning bursts through, followed by a stern-looking woman. “I’ve found your missing student cutting class in the courtyard.”

The student rubs his head awkwardly. “I keep telling you, Ms. Mannequin, I honestly forgot we had fifth before lunch. I wasn’t cutting on purpose.” And at that moment, the student’s stomach decides to let out a loud growl. His cheeks color.

The others laugh. “Maybe you weren’t, Neil, but I think your stomach was, man!” the clarinet player from earlier calls from the front row.

“Well,” Neil says sheepishly. “You know how it is. Sometimes you just let your appetite think for you.”

More laughter. The kindly old teacher shakes his head with a smile. “I think we can forgive you and your stomach just this once. Take your seat over by Mr. Erde. If you would, please, Mr. Erde, since the rest of the class has paired up already, go over the syllabus with Mr. Dylandy and let me know if either of you have questions.”

Tieria bristles minutely. “Of course.”

As the academic dean leaves, Neil Dylandy slides into the seat and sets Tieria’s bag on the floor by their desk. As if noticing their discomfort ( surely an impossible feat; Tieria’s expressions are always collected ), he claps a hand on their head and ruffles their hair. On impulse Tieria raises their own hand to swat him away and smooth their locks.

Neil grins. He leans forward and murmurs in Tieria’s ear: “Please be kind to me, _Miss_ Erde. I didn’t mean to be late, I promise.”

And at this, unknown to them, Tieria’s expression softens and their lips curl at the edges. “You’re forgiven, _Mister Dylandy_. Now look at this paper before I really do lose my patience.”

Neil chuckles, and they dissolve into quiet discussion over aeronautical physics, aerodynamics, and aeronautical engineering.

Neil Dylandy is in his fourth year, wanting to go into some sort of aeronautics profession, so the class of the same title seemed obvious for him to take, despite it only being a brief overview of a wide range of related topics. Tieria doesn’t truly _need_ the class, but they had jumped at the chance to be in the same classroom as their friend. In the summer of last year, Neil had lost his family in a terrorist attack in Ireland and had been sent to the United States under a protective agency. Originally he had not wanted to attend this school at all, due to his _adopter_ being a person of generally _performative justice_ and wanting their ward to attend a _prestigious_ school. It was around this time that Neil had -- quite literally -- run into Tieria after vandalizing the school property ( an absolutely too-detailed graffiti of a penis, in hot pink and bright red, that took the staff an entire day to clean off due to the quality of the spray paint ). Tieria had immediately been recruited by the teachers to “find the delinquent vandal” since they had been the only one to actually see him. With some simple logic, Tieria had found him within thirty minutes hiding out on one of the short nature trails behind the school. After a heated conversation that had _almost_ devolved into someone being slapped ( and had stopped just short ), Tieria had informed the teachers that the trail led off-campus.

To this day only Tieria and Neil know about the entire ordeal.

The conversation is interrupted when the old teacher stops by their desks. “Can I assume you two are going to pair up for the research project?”

Neil folds his hands under his chin. “Bit unconventional to decide partners for a final project on the first day, isn’t it?”

The teacher chuckles. “I’ve never been one for tradition. More interesting this way, I find. You have until the end of the month to find a partner, but since it’s you two, I figured I’d ask now before someone else requests you, Mr. Dylandy.”

“Aw, I’m just me. But it’s nice of you to consider us, Teach. Yeah, we’re gonna partner together.”

Tieria nods.

“Why d’you think someone else is gonna ask for me, though?”

The old man’s eyes twinkle. “A couple of those pretty girls up there at the front are having a _most_ interesting whispered argument over you.” He glances back at the aforementioned students. “It’s not too late to change your mind, if you want a partner who is...a senior and not a junior.”

Tieria bristles minutely. Again.

Neil closes his eyes and shrugs. Shaking his head, he replies, “I’m not really interested in that sort of thing. Tieria and I are gonna be partners.”

The teacher nods and jots it down before moving on to the hubbub at the front.

Neil prods Tieria’s foot with his own. “‘Sides, you’re way smarter than anyone in here.”

“You don’t know that,” Tieria contradicts quietly.

“You’re right, I don’t! And neither do they -- so we’re gonna prove it to them by having the best project when the time comes.”

As the lunch bell rings ( for real, this time ), nobody important notices Tieria’s pleased little smile.

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

Tucked into the teachers’ dorm is a small courtyard that is composed of water and stone. A narrow pool littered with water lilies cuts a rectangle in the middle of a cobblestone floor, bubbling quietly with a water filtration system under the surface. Mismatched stone benches and iron garden chairs stand around wooden and concrete tables on either side of the waterway. While the courtyard itself is accessible without going through the teachers’ dorm and is _technically_ not off-limits, most students either don’t know how to enter or are too suspicious of prying teachers to try. Here is where Tieria usually spends their lunch period, studying or eating quietly.

Currently, they are wiping down the outdoor furniture in the northeastern corner with a damp cloth, cleaning off the dust and pollen that accrued over the summer months. Their phone, resting neatly atop their messenger bag on the floor, buzzes quietly with a text:

【NEIL DYLANDY; 11:44 AM: hey so i said i was gonna change but allelujah is lost tryin to get there bc he forgot the way lmao im gonna go get him】

【ME; 11:44 AM: Okay.】

A soft scratch on the cobbled floor takes their attention. Regene smiles in greeting in lieu of a wave: his arms are full with a large paper bag and some sort of plastic sheet.

“What’s that?”

“Lunch!” Regene plunks his offering down on the newly cleaned table. “There’s no point in study hall on the first day, so after checking in with the office I asked if I could just go back to the dorms, and I put together this for us. I know you asked me to bring your sandwich that you made, but it’s in the mini-fridge.”

Tieria peeks into the bag curiously. “What did you make?”

“Nothing fancy, honestly. It’s not like either of us went shopping for this. There’s a fruit tray and a veggie tray, and the pink T*pperware has the little wheels of cheese and some R*tz crackers in it. Also four bottles of water and the little pitcher of raspberry lemonade we had left.”

Tieria nods. “Just four? Ribbons won’t be coming?”

Regene shrugs. “He said the teachers wanted to go over something for the assembly this afternoon. Again.”

“Mm…seems inefficient to do it today rather than do it yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to the office. I asked him if I needed to be there, but he said no. Back to the assumption that VP needs to be really damn good at doing absolutely nothing.”

“You’re a good pick, then.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Regene pokes Tieria in the side, and Tieria takes a swat at him. They reach a stalemate when Regene darts around the table, carefully keeping it between them. Tieria cocks an eyebrow before returning to helping unpack the bag. Once the lilac tablecloth is spread, the three containers are precisely set together on the table, with the small stack of plates and napkins beside the drinks.

“It’s very light.”

“Neither of us are heavy eaters, anyway. And I thought that Allelujah could probably use something that would be kind to his stomach. He gets those first day nerves, you know?”

“ -- Sorry for the trouble.”

The twins turn to see their two companions joining them. Neil claps a hand on the shoulder of a young man with long, dark hair covering one eye. Allelujah Haptism is a second year, drawn into their little group late last year after the three of them noticed him being bullied by his classmates for a pre-existing condition. Regene and Neil had sat down on either side of him during the lunch period in the cafeteria and started up a conversation, much to the aghast looks of the other freshmen at the time. Only Allelujah recalls that the conversation was about the track record he’d broken, but he doesn’t mind. After being invited back to the dorms to spend time with them, he’d met the reclusive Tieria and gained three friends. After a bit of perturbed prodding from Regene about the bullying, he’d revealed he has a mental disorder caused by trauma. The three had paused for a moment on hearing the news, but Neil had then jovially offered to deck anyone giving him a hard time. Regene had offered to always sit with him at lunch, and Tieria...Tieria had said, _You were chosen for this school even with that disorder. It’s foolish for anyone to call it out as though you weren’t. You have a place here with your peers as an equal. Their neurotypical natures do not elevate them._

Allelujah has since learned that Tieria usually has a great deal of wisdom for the anxious mind.

“...It’s normal to care after your friends, is it not?”

Neil smiles, and there’s something in the soft tilt of his lips that causes Allelujah to pause and discreetly glance between him and Tieria. Quickly looking away, he guiltily steals a side-eye at Regene...to realize that Regene missed the entire thing. Puzzling over the odd behavior, he absolutely forgets to reply to Tieria until Neil squeezes his shoulder.

“Ah -- sorry, what?”

“I said, it _is_ normal, right, Allelujah?”

“Oh. Y-Yeah, I guess so…”

“Besides, I personally like it when Regene makes these little apple bunnies. When the hell did you have time to make ‘em?”

Regene smiles, clearly pleased with the compliment. “In the twenty minutes I had burning off study hall.”

Neil whistles. “I doubt I could get _one_ done as well as this in that time, but this is a whole tray.”

Allelujah gently picks up one of the cutely cut apple slices and runs a finger over the pointy little ears. “They’re really nice. Can you teach me how to do them?”

“Sure thing. But they’re made to be eaten.”

Neil’s stomach growls ( again ), and his cheeks color ( again ). “I’m down for that!”

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

The pod of students haphazardly filing into the auditorium leaves Tieria feeling slightly claustrophobic. An overeager freshman trips somewhere in the back and pushes the entire scrabble forward, pitching Tieria into a doorjamb. Scowling, they massage their elbow while glaring daggers over their shoulder at the clamor funnelling sluggishly into the hall.

A door to the left -- the entrance to the light booth in the back -- opens suddenly and Tieria is yanked inside. It shuts decisively as an arm wraps around their waist to hold them in place and restrain the hand that is trying to slap at whomever grabbed them.

“Hey, calm down, T. It’s just me.”

“ _Neil?!_ ” Struggles subsiding, Tieria gapes at their friend seated at the soundboard, smug as can be at kidnapping them. “For what reason did you snatch me from the student body?!”

“You looked like you were having a hard time. Besides, I was gonna be by myself in here.” At Tieria’s inquisitive look, he continues. “Regene was planning on manning the soundboard, but Ribbons asked him at the last second to be on stage when he gives his speech. I know a little about how all these buttons work because of concert band, so Regene asked me to sit in here during the assembly. He gave me a list of cues.”

“But I’m not supposed to be in here.”

“Says who? Look, if a teacher asks why you’re with me in here, just say Regene asked both of us.”

“And when they ask Regene?”

Neil snorts. “What’s he gonna do, rat you out?”

Unable to muster a sufficiently logical retort to what was the honest truth, Tieria sighs and leans against the soundboard desk and watches students file into rows through the tinted glass. The senior section is by far the loudest. Most are chatting unabashedly with each other down in front. One of the more well-known football players is greeting everyone and asking about their summer breaks, and a couple of female students are chatting with the academic dean’s boyfriend. The freshmen are far quieter, but a few of the cheerleaders are gossiping excitedly about people flitting on and off the stage -- likely familiar with each other because of summer practice the week before classes started. Both Neil and Tieria start when a pen collides with the window at an extreme speed.

“Mr. Trinity, that is uncalled for!” one of the teachers yells.

“My sister deserved it!”

“You missed, Mikhail! Stupid!”

“Ms. Trinity!”

Neil chuckles at the ensuing chaos. “Still mad I more or less kidnapped you?”

“...Not really. It’s safer in here.”

They fall into a light discussion of what the buttons, sliders, and switches on the soundboard do. There are a great many of them, organized on metal plates by rows of overhead stage lights, spotlights, and speaker systems. The small booth in which they’re enclosed is big enough for two people semi-comfortably, but only if one is standing the entire time. There is no overhead light in the closet-like space, just a small reading light clipped to the window frame. Their conversation is cut off only at 1:58 PM when the academic dean raises her hand at the podium on-stage to start the assembly.

She gives her standard welcoming speech, making clear that she expects the best of all the students, both in academics and behavior ( she spares an obvious glance at the sibling duo from six minutes ago ). She then introduces the staff members and excuses the absence of the headmaster. She then welcomes the cheerleaders on-stage to perform a cheer for the school, followed by the choir to sing the school song ( Tieria and Neil remain silent while the student body stumbles its way through the bland lyrics ). She then quiets the room again, and introduces the student council president: Ribbons Almark.

The third- and fourth-year students erupt into a loud but brief cheer, including a couple of catcalls from the back of the junior section. As the auditorium quiets, a shrill voice calls out, “Ribbons! I love you!”

“Well, I certainly don’t wish to be a _hated_ elected official.” A tall young man with pale chartreuse hair ( almost blond ) and startlingly lilac eyes curves into a smile from the podium. “But I thank you all the same for the compliment.”

“ -- His jokes are still terrible,” comments Neil, shaking his head.

“Mm...but he delivers them with an unmatched charisma. Likely why he was elected.”

“Yeah. What do you think about that?”

“About...him being elected, with Regene as his running mate?” Tieria’s brow furrows, and they cross their arms. “They’re definitely up to something. They had never taken an interest in the school as a whole before. I wonder...if Ribbons found something.”

“About you guys, you mean?” Neil glances up.

Tieria’s eyes glow softly beneath hooded lids as they return the gaze.

Neil nods. “...D’you think Regene knows?”

“...Probably not. Regene likely just has a hunch, but he trusts Ribbons too much to do anything except believe.”

“Well.” Pale arms stretch up and there’s a few bones cracking as Neil shifts. “If Ribbons _is_ onto something, if he’s found something about this school that’ll give you three the answers you want, I’ll sit in as many light booths as I need to in order to go along with the plan.”

Tieria cants their head to the side. “Even if you don’t know the plan?”

“A simple man gives his life for the sake of greater men! I’ll never be smarter than Ribbons Almark in a million years, so as long as he’s on the right track and neither you nor Regene have a reason to doubt him, hell yeah, I’ll just sit here and pretend to know what I’m doing.”

There is a soft _hmph_ that can almost be called a warm laugh. “Neil Dylandy, you’re a good man.”

“Only for the people I want to be good for.”

They listen in silence to Ribbons’s speech for a while longer. Effortlessly, he takes in random questions thrown at him from bolder upperclassmen and segues them into his following points. Eventually he introduces the rest of the student council and takes a brief seat while Regene says his own piece. Tieria notes that Ribbons has an outfit that compliments Regene’s: a grey blazer the shade of Regene’s pants, pale blue skinny jeans that are stylishly ripped in four places, a silver wristwatch that glints as Regene’s pendant does, and a white button-down shirt tied at the top with an elegant lilac ribbon. ‘ _So...they’re continuing the charade that earned them the election._ ’

As if reading their mind, Neil murmurs, “They’re not _really_ dating, are they? Like, you guys’d tell me if they were? I know Ribbons isn’t allowed to date anyone, but if they were, like, secretly eloping or something you’d trust me to keep a secret?”

“Yes, of course,” is the immediate reply. “They’re pretending still. I suppose since the ‘fanservice’ approach coupled with Ribbons’s unparalleled debate skills won them the positions originally, it makes sense to continue the ruse.”

Neil hums, and Regene concludes his own portion of the speech ( something inconsequential about electing class representatives this coming Thursday ). He swaps seats with Ribbons again, trading a high five with him that sets off giggles in the front row.

Standing yet again at the microphone, Ribbons offers a suave smile to the front. And they fall quiet. Tieria tenses, and Neil straightens up on his stool. That smile is something everyone has noticed, but few understand: it causes swathes of people to silence themselves in an unspoken command. Imperceptibly, both Tieria and Neil lean forward.

“Students of Schenberg Academy for the Gifted, I have a _gift_ for you: this year will bring changes. Regene and I have been discussing over the summer how to make this place more welcoming for everyone here, regardless of nationality, religion, sexuality, or gender identity. It has come to our attention that some of the student body feel _out of place_ , as if born in the wrong skin. And if you feel that way -- I believe you.” A pause, with sharp violet eyes slowly sweeping the assembly. “I understand. I too feel out of place in myself sometimes, as if I am going against some greater programmed code I am intended to follow.”

Tieria’s jaw slackens _ever_ so slightly. Neil places a hand on their lower back to steady them.

“Because of this, I am inclined to extend my hands to you -- all of you. If you have a reason to feel uncomfortable, I wish to erase it, to ease it. I strongly encourage all of you to reach out to the representatives you are about to elect, to use them to speak to me -- I wish to understand all of you, and it is my solemn vow to make this place, our home for the next nine months, as accommodating and warm as I can. Together, we can better this place.”

He looks straight to the back, seeming to make direct eye contact with Tieria.

“I believe in us.”

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂


	2. In the event of usernames.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This manual is intended for creators and users of the highly sophisticated computers called Innovades, manufactured by VEDA and placed into this world at strategic points to push humanity toward a more unified front of understanding both themselves and the world around them.
> 
> Innovades have pre-programmed personalities that are coded toward their individual purposes. These traits & nuances are reflected in their physical terminals’ appearances, personal beliefs, and attractions.
> 
> WARNING: do not develop feelings for Innovades. The units are unable to feel genuine human emotion and will only respond according to their predetermined processes, though their code will attempt to portray realistic personas.
> 
> \-- Charles Ambuscade, v. 1.01

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

_Mobile Suit Gundam: Extreme Vs. Maxi Boost ON_ ( colloquially known as MBON ) is a 2v2 fighting game released solely for the Pl*ySt*tion 4 by Bandai Namco in 2020 during the COVID-19 plague. The 3D team game features a multitude of robots ( called mobile suits in-fanchise ) from the popular model kit _Gundam_ series. Players select a mobile suit and a Burst type, a type of special move triggered after taking and dealing a certain amount of damage. Teams share a six thousand point life bar, and upon dying the defeated robot’s cost amount is detracted from the total. Mobile suits with higher costs tend to have more tools and mobility, while lower cost machines are specialized and not widely used. The typical strategy per match is to have a “front” player taking the other team’s attention and a “back” player that punishes the other team for attacking the front. The first team to have their total life points reduced to zero loses the match.

As expected, the game attracts multitudes of mecha fans. Various online chat rooms, ranging from silly friend circles to cohesive communities, exist to discuss both the lore of the machines and the multitudes of gameplay. Players from all over the world debate tactics and artillery in an attempt to become better pilots. Most agree that while the learning curve is steep at best and excruciatingly harsh at worst, the payoff and the friends met along the way make the experience worth it.

Tieria and Regene have been playing the game since its first generation Japanese-only release, _Mobile Suit Gundam: Extreme Vs_., though this is a little-known fact, kept from even Neil. Neil himself had been sucked into the game series after meeting the twins and immediately fell in love with the green sniper units from the Anno Domini construction line. Allelujah had also been invited to play with them after being rescued from his bullying incident and had taken a liking to bots from the same fictional era. Tieria, while having enough gameplay fundamentals to reasonably play anything, specializes in the CB-002 Raphael Gundam and solely plays as a back player. Regene tends to flit around, having the most “mains” of anyone, usually playing on the option to randomize all mobile suits ( he will, on request, play a specific unit, and will almost always know all the tools for whatever unit has been requested ).

All four of them are members of the same online communities, though Regene seems to be in _every_ private chat imaginable, both on Pl*ySt*tion N*twork and D*scord, including ones that nobody can truly recall inviting him to.

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

▶ **GN RESONANCE. #matchmaking** **  
** **shctty** :  
hello lobby?  
**Lockon_Stratos** :  
gundam?  
**Raudelbur** :  
🅱️ undam?  
**LukewarmHoliday** :  
need a nap 😔  
**Irysa** :  
i have a raid right now, sorry  
**Lockon_Stratos** :  
oh good luck with that  
**shctty** :  
hey wait!  
lockon.  
weren’t you counting votes for the school?  
**Lockon_Stratos** :  
oh ayy lmao nah they dont want me to becuz im  
nominated from my class  
**Raudelbur** :  
votes?  
**shctty** :  
yeah! we had elections for class reps for stuco  
today. veda is there, too.  
**Lockon_Stratos** :  
yeah shes here countin ballots but the teachers  
said becuz im on a lot of them i cant count them  
im p sure one of the teachers wants to think i cant  
count in general but fwiw hes a dick  
**shctty** :  
oh i know who you’re talking about lmaooooo  
**Bulletprccf** :  
boy i tell ya  
these kids talking abt their high school escapades  
sure does bring me back  
**ZeroReverse** :  
Haha I get you  
**shctty** :  
either of you lobby?  
**ZeroReverse** :  
I have to help my parents with something and  
then make dinner. 😞 Sorry shctty.  
**shctty** :  
it’s cool! what about you, bullet?  
**Bulletprccf** :  
my eyes are acting up today. :c sorry.  
**Lockon_Stratos** :  
veda wants me to remind u to stretch ur wrists  
becuz of all the writing u do at work  
**Bulletprccf** :  
i do, at least four times a day.  
i appreciate her concern tho.

Regene looks up from his laptop and sighs longingly at the Pl*ySt*tion. The soft blue glow of the digital clock aside reads 3:47 PM. It’s definitely too early for a good lobby to be up -- most of the veteran players have regular working hours, and the European people are winding down. Classes ended around forty-five minutes ago, but the first week has such a light workload! He flops against a pillow on his bed, socked feet kicking up in frustration. Playing with randos isn’t really what he wants right now, even though it’s most likely what he’s known for -- “shctty” can be guaranteed to sit with someone who doesn’t have a partner and pick a suit to compliment them, but today he’d like to play Excellia, which requires somewhat of a competent front. It’s a beautiful 2500-cost unit that uses no less than four laser cannons, a _really_ big bayonet, and trailing shots called funnels that travel to enemy suits and then fire. She resembles a stereotypical magical girl, shining gold and pink with long and pretty animations. The gracefulness in her sequences result in her being a bit slow, as it usually is in fighting games, but Regene is determined that he wants to try her out seriously.

Idly flicking through menus, he considers his options. He could play the arcade modes, but there’s only so much someone can learn while fighting against CPUs in an environment that isn’t competitive. He could hit up free team worldwide rooms, but at this point in the day he might be kicked because of his connection ( wired, of course, but the European- and Asian-hosted rooms are quite a distance away ). He doesn’t even glance at the 1-on-1 rooms: the game isn’t designed to be played that way, and Excellia wouldn’t be a good pick for them, anyway. On a fourth refresh, a shuffle lobby pops up: North America Wired. He won’t be able to choose his partner, but... ‘ _Eh...not ideal, but it’s popping. I can just get in to see who all is in there, anyway._ ’ He confirms in.

shctty appears at the bottom of the member list. A quick glance over the names gives him a bit of recognition -- most of them are in the big D*scord group that a few of the vets put together when MBON came out. A couple of them like to give unsolicited advice, and he’s just trying to figure out how Excellia works in a few situations…

Regene makes sure he displays as offline before he queues up.

Predictably, a few of the players in here are relatively new -- or maybe they just don’t care. With a glance at his fourth partner he confirms the latter to be true. A few of these NA players wouldn’t know teamwork if it bit them in the ass. His current teammate is playing Doan’s Zaku -- _poorly_. Doan’s Zaku is a 1500-cost that prefers to take all the lives in a match, and Regene is certainly doing his damndest to try to give them that, but it proves difficult when they ignore Regene’s comm messages requesting help. As good as he is, being double-targeted by the enemy team is a slight problem when he’s learning how to maneuver Excellia.

Of course they lose that match. His partner comms, “All thanks to you,” at the end.

“Of fuck _off_!” Regene snaps at the screen. “It’s not like _you_ did anything to help.” The Gundam community is known to have bad manners, but it’s unlike anyone in the big D*scord to so openly say it. Probably this person is either not there or on an alternate account.

He puts the controller down for a minute and runs his hands through his hair. Water. And then he’ll sit back down and consider if practicing Excellia is worth being fucked over by rude partners.

The water is cold, which soothes his flaming irritation ( “dilutes his salt,” as Neil would say ). The ice presses against his lips, and he sucks one in to chew on it thoughtfully. ‘ _Is there anything I can do to prevent dying at all when I’m with a partner like that?_ ’ shctty is known for extraordinarily hard carries -- it makes him popular with the newer players. He doesn’t force advice ( even when he probably should ) and can guarantee wins on a fairly regular basis. But with those matches, he either picks the All Random option to make the playing field a bit more fair, or he’ll pick a suit to compliment his teammate. _This_ is a shuffle lobby with all creeds and all suits, and Regene wants to practice something specific.

‘ _Maybe it’s just not meant to be right now._ ’

He sits back down in his chair and tucks his feet underneath him. He’ll give it a couple more tries, and failing any decent matches, he’ll hop on Y*uT*be and search for Excellia matches.

When he queues back in, he notices a gamertag that definitely wasn’t in the room before he took his break: Liv0nze.

Liv0nze is a Reborns player -- almost exclusively. The Reborns is colored regally in gold, white, and red. It is a 3000-cost unit and the highest-performing suit in the game. It two different modes: the Reborns Gundam has travelling explosive assist calls ( called Gagas ), a beam rifle that can fire from the unit’s back, and dangerous melee damage, while the Reborns Cannon boasts a _huge_ laser cannon ( as the name suggests ), a rapid-fire beam machine gun, and funnels that fire smaller laser cannons ( called gero fangs ). Rumor has it that Liv0nze plays other suits on alternate accounts, but their Reborns achieved a fifteen-star proficiency with such speed when the game came out that even the vets were a bit intimidated. They have the highest rank available for ranked matches, and their Reborns is top on the placement list for all players. Most of the only criticism for their playstyle is that they don't seem to use anything else, but their ability to adapt to any situation with the suit more than makes up for it.

shctty and Liv0nze are paired opposite each other, and Liv0nze seems to know that shctty’s partner can do almost nothing to prevent Excellia from dying first and putting them into overcost. Overcost, in Regene’s opinion, is the worst in Excellia -- when she dies first instead of her partner, she’ll come back with a full bar of HP, but after her partner falls, her partner will only come back with however much HP is proportional to the remaining team life points. That means Excellia has to front, trying to take all the attention from the other team, and quite frankly she isn’t built for that.

The loss is demolishing. But it’s not as bad as it was -- Regene knows exactly why he lost. Liv0nze had gone after his partner after he died, and his partner doesn’t seem to know how to deal with the Gagas. ‘ _Hmm…_ ’ He queues back up immediately, hoping to be seated with the same four. ‘ _I could try using the charged laser cannon to destroy the Gagas before they make contact with my front._ ’

And that is essentially what happens.

However...Liv0nze doesn’t have their reputation for nothing. Regene can nearly _feel_ when they catch on to the strategy, because Liv0nze alters their tactics immediately to prevent the Gagas from being cut a second time: they send out the funnels toward Excellia, causing Regene to have to prioritize moving at risk of being blown up, allowing Reborns to freely call its assists at Regene’s partner.

The loss is regrettable, but not unexpected. ‘ _Well...what do I do about this, then?_ ’ He backs out from the queue to ponder the question, to be greeted by a ping from his laptop.

_Friend request received from Liv0nze#0026._

He can’t stop his brows from raising. Liv0nze is in a few of the same chats as shctty; usually they offer advice in a polite and concise manner, patiently fielding any and all questions that arise. It’s come to be expected that the Reborns player will have something substantial to add to a game discussion, and a few people will mention when the chat client says _Liv0nze is typing_. shctty likes them immensely -- they have a multitude of stupid memes at the ready and are the only person who catches every one of shctty’s pop culture references. They seem to appreciate his snarky humor and elitist takes on Internet connections, and, while not overly-important, they were the first person to take pity on him and trade friend codes when he was starting out in F*te/Go.

However it’s always been subtly obvious that Liv0nze keeps others at a distance -- never mentions their real life, nor even their gender ( though is the first to correct someone if the wrong pronouns are used for another ). Liv0nze never asks for personal details either -- it’s something Regene appreciates in no small amount.

All that being said, he didn’t take Liv0nze as the type to direct message when the public chat is perfectly suitable.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Regene clicks “Accept.”

▶ **@Liv0nze** **  
** **Liv0nze** :  
Good evening.  
Ah, afternoon for you still, isn’t it?  
**shctty** :  
it’s almost 5 pm for me. i think either could be  
used tbh.  
what’s up?  
**Liv0nze** :  
Biased is opening a team free room. I was  
wondering if you would care to join me there.

Regene blinks.

▶ **@Liv0nze** **  
** **shctty** :  
i don’t mind at all! i was only in shuff because  
there were no team free rooms.  
...why me, though? i know we don’t know each  
other, but you don’t ever seem to ask people in  
private.  
**Liv0nze** :  
The way you’re playing tells me that you are  
practicing something new, and your strategy and  
fundamentals were good. You know what you’re  
doing, and I’d like you to back for me, even if  
you’re practicing a new suit.

Regene feels his cheeks warm. Liv0nze doesn’t give compliments without them being earned. ‘ _Truthfully I probably need to practice_ **_against_ ** _them, to figure out what to do when a Reborns player won’t let me get away with that, but…_ ’

The opportunity is enticing.

▶ **@Liv0nze**  
**shctty** :  
i’d love to.  
i don’t vc though. is that ok?  
**Liv0nze** :  
That’s perfectly fine. I don’t, either.

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

There are three main moments of note.

The first occurs during their first match together. Excellia respawns on her second life just behind an enemy mobile suit -- with only a fraction of her original health points. Regene quietly mutters, “Oh, fuck,” under his breath and immediately boosts backwards -- into the _other_ opponent. Just as the sword is about to come down, rays of light cut through it, keeping it from Excellia. Reborns’ gero fangs are creating a semi-cage around Excellia, protecting her from the other team. Regene registers that he should run toward Liv0nze, and -- there it is: Reborns, just a step behind Excellia, cutting into the first enemy with a prepense and unhesitant speed. And then -- cyan letters spelling out _WIN_ flash on screen.

Regene stares at the screen, lips parted in slight disbelief. The calculated skill of Liv0nze in the last few seconds had been... _godlike_. They must have sent out Reborns’ funnels immediately when Excellia respawned and then moved in to cover. Using the respawned Excellia as bait had been a last-second but effective strategy.

▶ **@Liv0nze**  
**Liv0nze** :  
Is everything all right? You weren’t moving at all  
toward the end.  
**shctty** :  
yeah, i’m sorry.  
this sounds so stupid, but i was mesmerized by  
your tactic and, uh, forgot to play.  
**Liv0nze** :  
Haha. You’ll get used to it.  
Once more?

The second incident causes the third, and it occurs after eleven more matches, all ending in victory. Truthfully...Regene almost falls off his chair laughing at the other team’s abysmal luck.

Liv0nze and shctty require one more kill to win the match, and neither Reborns nor Excellia have lost much HP. Reborns bursts as one enemy teammate dies, and it zones in on the other, cutting into a damaging melee combo. Just as it starts, the previous teammate respawns slightly ahead of Excellia, and so Regene chases it back towards Reborns. Liv0nze must see this or have some sort of acute senses, because as soon as it’s within range, Reborns triggers its Super -- its “ultimate move” -- and just so _happens_ to catch not only its original target but also the teammate fleeing from Excellia.

The match ends, and Regene can’t stop the gleeful laughter.

Until, of course, the online lobby abruptly closes.

▶ **@Liv0nze**  
**Liv0nze** :  
Ah.  
**shctty** :  
what happened?  
**Liv0nze** :  
It seems that one member of the team we just  
decimated was hosting the lobby.  
**shctty** :  
that’s one hell of a ragequit, holy shit.  
**Liv0nze** :  
Indeed.  
Say, are you up for a challenge?  
**shctty** :  
sure? but what’s that supposed to mean?

Liv0nze does not reply immediately, and Regene is left puzzling at the question. Taking this as a moment to break, he reaches far above his head, toward the stars painted on the ceiling ( not _specifically_ with school rules, but they’re glow-in-the-dark silver paint on a white background, so nobody important has actually noticed yet -- not that Tieria didn’t almost kill him when he put them on there, of course. He totally owes a life debt to Neil for _that_ save ) and stretches out his legs, wiggling his toes.

He’s taking a sip of water when the Pl*ySt*tion dings with a request -- an invite from one Liv0nze. Regene raises an eyebrow. ‘ _A private lobby?_ ’ He glances at his chat to finally be greeted with a reply.

▶ **@Liv0nze**  
**Liv0nze** :  
Come.

And so he does. What he arrives to is _not_ a private lobby; instead it is a public eighteen-player room filled almost immediately with veteran players...with one private slot. shctty’s invitation.

The third happening of import is that Regene doesn’t quite notice the little smile curling his lips.

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

At 6:37 PM shctty and Liv0nze are exchanging “good games” with the rest of the players from their lobby. Liv0nze sends a DM saying that they need to take care of some things, but they'd be happy to look over their replays later and offer their advice. Regene finally takes note of his smile, but, believing himself to be alone, doesn’t bother schooling his expression into something _cooler_. He shuts down _Maxi Boost_ and sends a final message to Liv0nze and hops out of his chair, spinning around to see --

“ _Wh_ \-- _Tieria!!_ ”

His twin looks up from the book settled on his knees and blinks innocently. They’re curled up on the bed, docile as can be, with their messenger bag on the floor beside. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’! You scared the _shit_ out of me! When did you even come back?”

Tieria glances at the clock. “Twenty-seven minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t _say_ anything?”

Tilting their head to the side, Tieria replies, “You looked as if you were having fun. I didn’t want to interrupt. I could wait. Your win streak is impressive.”

Regene pauses. ‘ _...What_ was _our win streak? I...lost track of matches, somehow. Was I that focused on the matches?_ ’

Passively, Tieria supplies, “Forty-six wins. Did you have any losses?”

“Not...while partnered with Liv0nze, no.”

It is Tieria’s turn to pause. The twins are _good_ , but not “100% winrate in a lobby of vets” good. Finally they manage, “Liv0nze must be having a good day.”

“Liv0nze always plays like they’re having a good day, though. They’re...really cool, actually. They have excellent advice for adjustments, and they somehow know nearly perfect tactics. And I think they have, like... _amazing_ luck, based on how many respawns they took advantage of.”

Tieria hums thoughtfully. “Still...congratulations.”

Regene grins, unable to be anything except _slightly_ bashful. “Thanks. Did...you wanna play anything tonight?”

“No, thank you. Neil showed me a new urban fantasy book, and I promised him that I’d try it out.”

“Gotcha, gotcha.” The Pl*ySt*tion powers down. “Did you guys finish counting the votes?”

“My portion of them, yes. Neil’s class...voted unanimously for him.”

“ _Wow_.”

Tieria nods. “I don’t know any of the other winners personally, but I believe you and Neil both know Christina Sierra? She won her homeroom. She and most of the others are incumbents from last year.”

“That’s not surprising; the people who are class reps like going on our field trips.” Regene laughs lightly. “There’s also a pair of senior girls who are _really_ good at decorating for dances, so everyone usually lobbies for them.”

Regene’s phone takes that moment to jingle.

【OUR FEARLESS LEADER!; 6:53 PM: Good evening. Would you like me to leave the victor list for you in the clubroom or take it to you?】

【ME; 6:53 PM: you can just leave it there.】

【ME; 6:53 PM: we’re gonna announce it in the morning together, right?】

【OUR FEARLESS LEADER!; 6:53 PM: Correct. Then have a good evening, Regene.】

【ME; 6:54 PM: why don’t you take a break? come get something to eat with me and tieria.】

【OUR FEARLESS LEADER!; 6:54 PM: I appreciate the offer, but I have something with me. I’ll see you tomorrow.】

【ME; 6:54 PM: mmk.】

Regene tosses the phone back onto the bed and stretches. “Do you wanna get something to eat?”

“I am a little hungry,” Tieria admits. “Today is Thursday, though, so the dining hall has...meatloaf.”

Both of them pull a face.

“Maybe I should’ve bought groceries instead of playing _Maxi Boost_.”

“Don’t worry about it. You had fun, and I know you and Ribbons have been given a large to-do list for the first week for student council-related business.”

There is nothing explicitly _wrong_ with the school’s meatloaf, nor meatloaf in general. The school itself generally has good food, and the cooks are normally jovial and easy to talk to, especially if someone needs to know if a dish has x or if they could replace y for allergy reasons. Even the students tend to not be overwhelming, because even though Regene is popular and will certainly be stopped by at least one person, the dinner hours are more spread out than the fifty-minute lunch crush.

It’s that the twins don’t like red meat.

They aren’t allergic to it by any means. It even tastes decent enough, but neither of them can ever eat a full portion of it before idly picking at it with full stomachs, and they dislike wasting food.

Tieria sighs and starts to pull their shoes back on. “It’s either the dining hall or run to a fast food place off-campus, and I can’t be bothered for the latter right now.”

Stunningly, their problem comes solved in the form of Neil Dylandy, who, while coincidentally also heading to the dining hall at the same time, presents to them the most obvious solution that Regene smacks himself in the forehead for not thinking of it himself.

“Why don’t you just tell the kitchen staff that you two would like to share one serving of it, since neither of you can finish your own?”

The twins look at each other in confusion. Their thoughts must be pronounced, because Neil claps a hand each on their heads and ruffles their hair.

“You two are too cute. Sometimes you think about this kind of stuff way too hard and miss the solution right in front of your noses.”

They both scowl and bat at Neil’s hands, much to his amused laughter. Regene notes quietly that Tieria’s expression softens at the sound. He smiles.

“Well!” He links arms with Tieria and Neil, tugging them forward. “Time to eat with that issue resolved?”

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

Tieria bites back a yawn halfway through dinner.

“...Long day?” As if Regene doesn’t know exactly what Tieria has been doing.

Tieria shakes their head. “No, excuse me. I’m not sure why I’m so tired.”

“Maybe from tallying votes?” Neil suggests. “You took the time to re-write the list after you counted all the senior ballots.”

“It should be neat so the next person can read it.”

“Yeah, but it was already neat. Your handwriting is the most perfect of all the people I know in the first place. Your cursive looks as if it’s been printed off a computer.”

Tieria looks down briefly at this, and Regene takes a slow sip of orange juice. Neil certainly _meant_ it as a compliment; he’s too good to imply anything else. But the weight of what he’s said is lost on him…

“What about mine, Neil? Mine is neat, too, right?”

“Yours is cuter, I think. Very round. You can definitely tell when you’re in a rush, though.”

Regene sends a mock glare. “When _I’m_ in a rush? Have you seen _yours_ , Neil Dylandy?”

Neil laughs. “Hey, I’ll be the first to admit that mine is a mess.”

“...Your handwriting is perfectly legible,” Tieria quietly interjects. “I’d say something otherwise.”

“Aww. You’re defending your boyfriend?”

“We’re not dating.”

The reply is so immediate that Regene feels kind of bad for making the jab in the first place.

Taking it in nothing less than perfect stride, Neil nudges Regene with his foot beneath the table. His smile is amused as he glances over Regene’s shoulder. “Yeah, not like you and your _boyfriend_ are.”

Violet brows knit, but before he can open his mouth to say anything, a quiet voice speaks from above him to the left. “Would you mind scooting over? My hoodie will unfortunately only conceal me for so long.”

“ _Ribbons?_ ” Regene does in fact move over to let the new addition sit down. “I thought you said you had something with you?”

Ribbons Almark sits with more grace than a high school student should be allowed, purposefully keeping his pristine blue-and-white hood over his head. ‘ _Ah...he must not want to talk to anyone. I’m not sure many people know he even_ **_owns_ ** _a hoodie._ ’

“‘Sup, Ribbons?” Neil greets. “Everything look okay after we left?”

Ribbons sighs, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose. “You and Tieria organized the junior and senior ones so I didn’t have to do anything -- thank you, by the way, Tieria; you didn’t have to volunteer to count ballots -- but the freshman volunteer made an absolute mess. I had to re-count the first year votes by myself.”

“Aren’t you, like, not allowed to because you’re the president?” Neil cocks an eyebrow.

“Yes, well.” Fingers move down to conceal his smirk, but the curl of Ribbons’s mouth is still visible to the three with him. “What the teachers don’t know won’t hurt them. It may even bolster that first-year’s competence if she thinks that she did a decent job.” He cracks open a small, round container he brought to the table with him and spoons a bite into his mouth. “...And Neil, you should probably not announce that I am Regene’s ‘boyfriend’ quite so loudly. Saying it lessens the appeal.”

Regene lets loose an undignified snort. “Yeah, better to let the masses wonder if two beautiful _bishounen_ are actually dating or not.”

Ribbons frowns. “Better to not let the teachers think we _are_ dating.”

“Ah…”

The table grows abruptly solemn.

“Say…” Neil leans forward, his voice dropping. “It’s not against the rules to date anyone -- and I _did_ check, so don’t you say I didn’t,” he quips towards Tieria, quenching any correction from the violet-haired perfectionist. “So...are you two not allowed to date because of your...uh, ‘special circumstances’?”

“Well…” Regene glances at Ribbons. Neil isn’t stupid by any means; he’s picked up that the twins have some _characteristics_ that others don’t ( Tieria nearly had a heart attack when Neil caught them both with glowing eyes. It was after this that they decided spoken communication would have to suffice. ), and he is well aware that the twins and Ribbons have known each other longer than anyone else, so it’s not unthinkable that he can put two and two together.

“Neil Dylandy.”

Ribbons shifts, and Neil freezes. Regene eyes the former’s posture and comes to the conclusion that Ribbons must be doing _something_ under the table to Neil with his foot. Regene silently sends his condolences.

Lilac eyes answer Neil with an icy, piercing glare that the rest of the student body isn't permitted to see from their otherwise _kind_ and charismatic leader. “If I tell you that I have a different set of ‘special circumstances’ than these two, would you keep your mouth shut?”

Neil grimaces. He reaches forward, and both Regene and Tieria tense at what’s about to happen --

And then he flicks Ribbons on the forehead.

“Y’know, you could’ve just said ‘yes,’ and I would’ve gotten the message. Also I’m pretty sure that if I couldn’t ‘keep my mouth shut’ I wouldn’t be welcome at this table right now.”

Ribbons looks so stunned that someone would _dare_ touch him so casually that Regene can’t stop the giggle that surfaces. Even Tieria huffs out a quiet breath of amusement while they push their glasses back up their nose. At Neil’s easy smile, Ribbons gives a quiet _tch_ and returns to eating.

And then it is Regene’s turn to give a soft look to Neil. He winks in return before leaning back into his chair, and he and Tieria start a mundane conversation about the various types of handwritings on the ballots.

Regene too settles into his seat, content to quiet himself and let the other two speak. Ribbons, however...Ribbons is still tightly wound from Neil’s scrutiny. Regene tilts his head to the side faintly. Beneath the table, he reaches for his friend -- but because both of Ribbons’s hands are otherwise occupied, all that is available is a leg. Regene places a hand just above Ribbons’s knee and gives a light squeeze.

Ribbons’s shoulders slowly relax, and Regene takes to drawing light, comforting circles on the jeans where his fingers lie. And he finally takes note of what is being eaten: Ribbons came down solely for the vanilla pudding.

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

“...‘Top 10 Biggest Dicks in the _Gundam_ community’...?”

Tieria reads off of Regene’s phone with such a straight face that Regene has to choke down a laugh by hastily taking a huge gulp of still-too-hot tea ( this does not, however, stop Tieria from glaring at him sharply ). “Yeah. Did you know Bullet has the honor of being on both the Top 10 Biggest _and_ the Top 10 Smallest lists?”

“...I’m sure he is endlessly amused by this.” ( oh, he certainly is. )

Regene grins and returns to toweling off his damp hair. “I think it’s funny. Most of TJ’s chat talk about dicks so often that I’m pretty sure they must like them.”

Tieria frowns. “We are _minors_.”

Regene snorts. “Yeah, and honestly who gives a fuck? I _do_ have a not-safe-for-work art Tw*tter, you know? It’s not like they’re grooming us or whatever. If I know Bullet, Raud, or Zero well enough at all then they wouldn’t allow anyone to behave that way.”

Tieria sighs and returns to reading the chat. “...It seems Liv0nze has noticed that he is number three on the Top 10 Biggest list. I know well enough the number two slot, but who is this person at number one?”

“It’s some guy who has Rias Gremory from _H*gh Sch*ol D*D_ in their waifu gacha.”

Tieria, looking entirely unimpressed by this information, gathers their pyjamas and heads off toward the now-free shower.

Regene spends a few more minutes drying his hair and brushing it neatly. Before crawling beneath the covers, though, he straightens their shared room a bit: scrupulously removing strands of hair from his brush, lining up their two pairs of shoes by the door, pushing his gaming chair in, leaving his now-empty mug on the desk to be washed in the morning. When everything is neatly satisfactory, he presses between the soft blankets on their shared bed, leaving room enough for Tieria when they come back from their hygiene routine.

▶ **ASCENSION VERSUS SKII SKII #gunxam**   
**shctty like a melody in my head** :  
am i on this list?  
**Rank 4** :  
We don’t have enough info on you yet  
But possibly  
**Liv0nze** :  
I cannot imagine what feats you believe I have  
accomplished to be on such a list, but I thank you  
for the...compliment, all the same.  
**Rank 4** :  
You just have big top energy  
**Liv0nze** :  
I would say big front energy instead…  
**Tiny 9th** :  
yo someone tell the homie that I want Rias  
get him off of first  
**Degenerate #2** :  
Maybe you could ask Bullet for some of his gacha  
luck  
**shctty like a melody in my head** :  
hey, i need some of that.  
@anti fuckboy ruler. god bullet, can i get a blessing  
for a roll in f*te/go?  
**anti fuckboy ruler.** :  
:[froggy_headrub](https://cdn.discordapp.com/emojis/727726548068728883.gif?v=1):  
**shctty like a melody in my head** :  
thank you, god bullet.  
**anti fuckboy ruler.** :  
💜  
**Degenerate #1** :  
I dont get why Bullet always rolls SSRs immediately  
in his H*pM*c game without paying a cent but Im over  
dropping mad money on Az*r L*ne not pulling shit  
**anti fuckboy ruler.** :  
i’m telling y’all; my success is due to the lord. & me  
not being a degenerate like the rest of you.  
y’all need jesus i’m srs!!  
he looks at y’all and sees that y’all are focused on  
the waifu  
when y’all need to be focused on the way, the truth,  
and the laifu  
**Degenerate #2** :  
:[Bee](https://cdn.discordapp.com/emojis/577203746178596893.png?v=1):  
**shctty like a melody in my head** :  
:[Bee](https://cdn.discordapp.com/emojis/577203746178596893.png?v=1):

Thumbing over to DM’s, Regene hovers over one name, unsure if he should ask. He definitely knows how to read a room, though, and recognizes discomfort when he sees it. Swallowing his nervousness, he sends the message.

▶ **@Liv0nze**  
**shctty** :  
that penis tier list made you really uncomfortable,  
didn’t it?  
**Liv0nze** :  
Ah...you could tell, could you?  
Someone else also sent me a message asking if I’m  
all right.  
My apologies. I’ll be fine, but thank you for checking  
on me. It’s sweet of you.  
**shctty** :  
i was just wondering if you were okay. i know we like  
more or less only messaged privately today, but uh…  
if there’s ever anything you wanna talk about, i’m here.  
**Liv0nze** :  
I think partnering with you was a better idea than I  
originally gave it credit for.  
Ah, speaking of...here. You improved drastically over  
the games we had together. I went over our replays and  
put together a list. http://docs.gg/schttyfeedback.docx

He opens it immediately. Everything is outlined and color-coded: summary, positive feedback, negative feedback, suggestions, replay timestamps… ‘ _Timestamps?_ ’ Regene raises an eyebrow and scrolls down to it. All of their matches are noted, some with just one note beside them, others with two or three. A few of them reference things mentioned in earlier sections of the document. Flicking back up, he sees with a slight smile that the color scheme matches colors found on Excellia: positive feedback has areas highlighted in pink, negative feedback in gold, and suggestions in a faint lilac that only appears on one of her attacks.

It’s almost...cute. And incredibly kind. Even though Liv0nze and shctty have “known” each other for a while, Regene isn’t sure he deserves this. It looks like it took a while...

▶ **@Liv0nze**  
**shctty** :  
this is...really detailed. really, you didn’t have to do this.  
**Liv0nze** :  
Don’t worry about it. Something IRL happened to make  
me want a distraction, and this was a convenient outlet.  
**shctty** :  
i see...thank you then. i’ll have to read it tomorrow tho.  
my roommate is coming back now.  
**Liv0nze** :  
Take your time with it. I hope it helps with what you’re  
working on.  
**shctty** :  
i’m sure it will. gn liv0nze.  
**Liv0nze** :  
I look forward to seeing your progress. Good night,  
shctty.

As Tieria re-enters the room, Regene plugs his phone in to charge and places it on the nightstand. His twin pads around, brushing their own hair and putting their clothes out for tomorrow, but Regene’s mind wanders. He doesn’t notice when Tieria turns out the lights.

He doesn’t even notice the small smile still playing about him until Tieria asks about it as they join him on the bed. The thought hits him then.

“...You can have a crush on people from the Internet, right?”

“...I’d suppose so. Why?”

“...”

“Regene…?”

⌜ _I...I think I might have a crush on Liv0nze._ ⌟

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to raud, as always, for being a wonderful editor.
> 
> special thanks also to bex, "tieriaerde," and "IdolDigidestined" for the first chapter reviews.


	3. In the event of becoming a pilot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This manual is intended for creators and users of the highly sophisticated computers called Innovades, manufactured by VEDA and placed into this world at strategic points to push humanity toward a more unified front of understanding both themselves and the world around them.  
>   
> Innovades have pre-programmed personalities that are coded toward their individual purposes. These traits & nuances are reflected in their physical terminals’ appearances, personal beliefs, and attractions. They express specific childlike interpretations of philosophies and political sciences, since they do not possess the capability to grow and truly understand the world around them.  
>   
> WARNING: do not develop feelings for Innovades. The units are unable to feel genuine human emotion and will only respond according to their predetermined processes, though their code will attempt to portray realistic personas.  
>   
> \-- Charles Ambuscade, v. 1.02

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

Schools in the United States are required to teach U.S. History, just as presumably other countries are required to teach their own. Many young adults become disillusioned with the school system because of the nationalist approach the U.S. has on its own past, not acknowledging the horrors it committed to acquire all of its land for Caucasian males.

Aoelia Schenberg is aware of the failings of the government-mandated core curriculum, and requires instead that his educators take a more worldly standpoint on teaching.

As this is a new direction, most adults are reluctant to stray from their traditional lesson plans. However, it usually only takes one to challenge the status quo to dramatic change.

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

The calm recording of the class bell plays overhead. Ribbons Almark closes his book and rises from his seat.

“Hey, Teach, can I go to the bathroom?” says a voice to his right.

The joke is old, but it still garners a few grins from the seniors of Homeroom 4-1. They have been without a teacher for two weeks now; he has been on an excused absence finishing up some business from the summer. The deans had asked Ribbons before classes started if he would temporarily take over homeroom duties until the teacher returns. Presumably, the student council president is as responsible as an adult.

His peers know that he’s a bit more lax. “Sure. Don’t get lost on the way.”

“Yeah, idiot, try to go to the one on this floor this time,” a girl with a high ponytail chips in.

“That was _one_ time!”

“One time this week, maybe,” a young man with glasses mutters.

The original requester gives a friendly huff and saunters out the door, rubbing his head sheepishly.

Shaking his head, Ribbons marks those three as accounted for. Seating himself at the front desk, he neatly ticks off everyone he’s seen as _present_. “Is anyone actually absent? Saji isn’t here, but he’s likely been accosted by Louise again. Though we’re still missing…”

“Oh!” A tiny girl jolts up from reading a comic. “I’m here, Ribbons. Was I slouching too far down?”

“No, I have you, but you should care more for your posture.”

“I know, I know…”

Briefly checking his e-mail on the classroom computer, he finds that the receptionist has already noted his final missing classmate is out sick. Ribbons records this and leaves the attendance file on the desk. “There are two announcements today. I’m reminding you that the back-to-school dance is this Friday in the gym, and tickets cost three dollars. All of the ticket proceeds will be going toward paying the DJ, who has generously offered to do it for a considerable discount. Secon -- ”

“Hey, hey, are you and Regene gonna dance together?” the slouching girl asks excitedly. He notes that her comic is _probably_ BL and _definitely_ inappropriate for school.

“...We might. Would you like us to?”

“Yes, yes!”

A few of the other girls and one boy look up with interest. “You and the VP are totally a hot item,” the boy says with a wink.

“Fufu.” Ribbons smirks and shrugs. “Thank you, but you’ll have to come yourself if you want to know for certain.”

“If I come looking cute, can _I_ dance with you?”

“Of course.”

“Won’t Regene be jealous?”

“I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

This prompts a rowdy chorus of _ooh!_ from the four boys in the back and a few giggles from the first group.

“ -- I wasn’t expecting the student council president to be so ‘out there’ with his relationship, but as a sentimental Virgo I can’t say I disapprove.”

The class freezes as a new voice comes from the doorway. A man with blond hair and large green eyes strides in with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

Ribbons narrows his eyes. “This school _is_ non-conforming, yes? So it makes sense its leaders stand out.”

The man laughs and walks to the front of the room, mere paces away from Ribbons. Tossing his bag into the teacher’s chair, he turns and addresses the entire class. “I see that your president has been taking care of everything in my stead. I’m Graham Aker, and I’m your teacher who’s been MIA for two weeks. Now…” He glances at Ribbons, who gazes passively back, and then sweeps his eyes across the class. He laughs again as two girls hastily try to stow their make-up back into their bags and the group of boys in the back throw a hoodie over the handheld game system that is _definitely not_ extraordinarily obvious. Only after a moment the tiny girl jolts again and shoves her comic under her sweater ( and it is a very long moment -- she does become _exceedingly_ engrossed in those things ). “Hah! I see your president is kind to his classmates and not a huge stickler for the rules. That’s fine; neither am I. I don’t care what you do in homeroom as long as you check in and listen to announcements, which, until you interrupted your president, is what was happening. You said there were two announcements, didn’t you? Carry on.”

‘ _...He heard that entire conversation. That...will have to be dealt with._ ’ Ribbons schools his face into a genteel smile. “As you wish, Mr. Aker -- ”

“Graham.”

“Pardon?”

“All of you just call me ‘Graham.’ I’ve never been one for formalities.”

“...I see. Very well then. In that case, Graham, before I continue, I’d like to introduce myself and the class. My name is Ribbons Almark, and, yes, I am the student council president, as humbly elected by my peers.” And then he proceeds to go around the class, introducing each student in turn and saying a small fact about them ( a shy girl in the corner has her eyes absolutely light up when he praises her artwork ). During the introductions, the other student comes back, with an arm slung around the shoulders of Saji Crossroad, and they too are acquainted to the new teacher. “...And the last person on your list is absent today. Administration should have the details.”

Graham smiles, a genuine and full thing. “I see you pay attention to your friends. A good quality in a leader.”

‘ _Friends, is it…_ ’ “Thank you. I have been told I am very...detail-oriented.”

“Ribbons is, like, anal retentive,” interjects the bathroom student, settling in at his desk.

The girl with the high ponytail slaps him on the arm.

Ribbons clears his throat. “ _Anyway_. The second announcement is that homecoming will be the third Friday in September, and, as usual, students have free admission to the football game and the subsequent dance on Saturday. Guests will still have to pay for tickets to both. There will be fundraisers on two Saturdays before homecoming, and any student who cannot afford their date’s ticket or whomever simply wants to participate on behalf of another student is welcome to sign up. Details on the fundraisers will be available on Monday.”

The students immediately begin to discuss this amongst themselves, but the bell rings once again, signalling the end of the fifteen-minute homeroom period.

‘ _...Obscenely good timing._ ’ Ribbons turns briefly to Graham, smoothing a lock of hair behind his ear. “The attendance file has the reports in it from the past two weeks. The remote to the projector, the whiteboard markers, and a few various office supplies are in the top left drawer of your desk.”

“And here I thought I’d have to provide my own pens,” Graham says with raised eyebrows.

“It’s...a mashup of random extras. You were expected sometime this week. One of the girls thought that, since you’ve been taking care of your personal affairs until now, writing utensils and such might be the last thing on your mind. I suggested that we each offer something extra that we had with us, since we all have new things still, and everyone agreed to the plan.”

Graham’s expression softens. “I can see why the deans speak so highly of you. Your classmates, too -- all of you are good kids. I didn’t expect a welcome present, especially not from a group of high schoolers.”

Ribbons gives a faint smile. “Socialism _does_ work, if the people involved are morally decent.”

Graham hesitantly pauses just long enough before saying, "I appreciate your understanding and willingness to exert it, but the concepts you're talking about aren't solutions to being in a classroom; they're to address problems with society as a whole -- and as much as the classroom is a microcosm of it, they aren't relatable.

“Regardless, thanks for the gift."

( In his desk there are eighteen items: four highlighters of varying sizes and colors, a bundle of pencils bound with a red hair tie, a chain of twenty-seven paper clips, a plain black composition book, two blue ballpoint pens, an orange white-out tape, half a stack of cloud-shaped sticky notes, a _very_ glittery gel pen -- generously in red, as the girl who donated noticed “there was no red thing to grade with” --, an unopened pack of note cards, a black mug with a pensive emoji face on it, a small bag of gummy candy with an apology note taped on it for not giving anything useful, an eraser that looks like a cute dinosaur, and two folders -- the cheap kind that probably come in packs of ten. An additional note card lists off the front gate code, the school’s wi-fi password, and the login information for the classroom computer. It is stapled to a map of the school that has areas of note highlighted. Graham immediately thinks highly of his homeroom. )

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

Neil trips ungracefully in the hallway and absolutely _slams_ into someone, knocking them both uncomfortably into the corner of a doorjamb and their held possessions onto the floor. “ _Shit_ , I’m sorry -- what the hell did I trip on?”

“Someone likely upturned the classroom doormat,” says a familiar voice.

“ _Again_? Man, I wish people would flatten out the damn things. Here -- lemme help you pick up your stuff, Ribbons.”

The president and the newly-elected class representative untangle themselves. Neil moves after a book that has skidded across the floor. Ribbons runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it out, before crouching to collect his papers.

“All right, here. Is this your pen?”

“No. Thank you. I’ll see you in Physics, Neil.”

“Yeah, later.” Neil straightens out the mat and swings into the classroom. He makes for his usual seat -- second row, third aisle. AP Geography has been without a regular teacher since school started, so the substitutes had required them to sit alphabetically. Neil has actually swapped with his neighbor -- the person in the desk behind him puts her feet on the chair most of the time, but Neil doesn’t mind it like most people do.

Today, though, there is someone else leaning against the teacher’s desk: a younger man, sporting a mop of blond hair, with a piercing set of green eyes that seem more fit on a battlefield than in a classroom. His too-serious gaze scans the contents of a folder in his hand intently, as if they were important intelligence, as opposed to whatever mundane school details they probably are. ‘ _Best not to interrupt…_ ’ Neil begins to think, until those eyes flicker to him. He starts. “ -- Good morning.”

“Good morning.” The man quickly flips to a new page. “And you are…?”

“Neil Dylandy, sir.”

“I see…” The man ticks something on his papers, and Neil belatedly realizes that he’s holding the attendance ledger. “I’m your teacher, but I’ll introduce myself when class starts. You guys have just been reviewing basic geography so far, is that right?”

“Yessir. Week one we did a review of the various biomes around the world, and last week and this week we’re going over countries. We’ve covered North and South America and Europe, and today we were supposed to be going over Africa.”

“Any tests so far?”

“Last Monday we had one over the biomes, and this coming Monday we were supposed to have one on countries, I think.”

“Thanks.”

He returns to his papers, leaving Neil to settle in at his desk. As more students filter in, the new teacher asks their names. Lichty slaps Neil on the back as he passes to his seat, and Neil gives him a casual wave. A sporty girl is the last to arrive, hissing quietly as her legs connect with her cold chair.

The teacher looks around briefly as the bell rings before glancing back at his roster sheet. Pushing up off his desk, he moves to the stand at the front. “All right. Well, I’m sorry to everyone who already got their things out, but -- everybody stand up.”

Amidst a fair few looks of confusion, they do.

“And now get your things and sit wherever you want. I never did like alphabetical seating.”

A murmur passes through the room, and Neil immediately asks the unruly kid on the front left if he can have that seat. Tossing his bag into the chair, he sees Lichty slide into the adjacent desk, and they share a fistbump.

“I like the new guy already,” says Lichty.

“Me, too,” Neil grins.

Similar comments reverb around the room until the new teacher clears his throat again. A hush falls. “Right,” he says. “Neil has already told me what you guys have been doing, but we’ll get there in a minute. My name is Graham Aker, and all of you should call me Graham. No formalities. We’re here to learn, not pretend to be polite.”

The unruly kid, now in the back, snorts loudly.

“Glad to hear we’re in agreement,” Graham says. “Now, couple house rules. I’m really easy: pay attention and pass my class, and that’s all I’ll ask. If you paying attention during me teaching includes needing to doodle or something like that, then that’s fine -- just don’t disturb your neighbor when I expect you to be quiet. Also your phones are fine, if you wanna text your friends during class -- but keep them on silent.”

Another pleased murmur goes through the class, and a fair few people pull their phones out of their pockets -- Neil included, if only because Lichty does it. To his surprise, he receives a text as he puts it down on the desk.

【RIBBONS :|; 10:08 AM: I forgot to mention: keep an eye on that teacher.】

Neil cocks an eyebrow and quickly taps out a reply.

【ME; 10:08 AM: why】

Neil glances up and focuses a bit on what Graham is saying again: he’s explaining what he asked Neil about earlier, as well as a tentative schedule for the class. And the test for Monday has been pushed to Tuesday!

“There’s a dance this Friday, I’ve been told, and I doubt anyone is going to study very hard over the weekend after that. So we’ll review on Monday and have the test on Tuesday.”

Neil lets out a whoop with the rest of the class. “How’d you know about the dance already?”

“Ah.” Graham has a lopsided grin, as if amused by a private joke. “Your esteemed student council president is in my homeroom. I found out that way.”

“Ribbons is _suuuper_ detailed about everything. How’d you get away without a lecture, Graham?” one of the girls cheekily asks.

At the mention of his friend, Neil glances down at his phone and taps the screen. He eyeballs the time. ‘ _Ribbons left me on read…_ ’ Noting that Graham looks a bit bewildered at two of the girls arguing over Ribbons, he quickly types a message to someone else.

【ME; 10:19 AM: hey is ribbons ok】

【GEN >:); 10:19 AM: wow, texting in third period! does the new teacher not care if you text?】

【ME; 10:20 AM: damn ribbons already told u huh】

【GEN >:); 10:21 AM: well, yeah. he’s sitting right next to me in calc. tho right now he’s explaining limits to the girl who sits behind us. again.】

【ME; 10:22 AM: f】

【GEN >:); 10:22 AM: f.】

Unsure what to make of the obvious dodge to his question, Neil looks up again and vaguely notes Graham is answering some questions about himself in lieu of an introduction. Lichty is chiming into the conversation at times, but it’s mostly being carried by the girls on the right side of the room.

Tabbing back over to the first conversation, Neil stares at it for a minute. Regene must not know what to make of Ribbons’s behavior, either. Looking back up, he means to pay more attention to Graham rather than stare out the window deep in thought, but his mind wanders, trying to piece together why Ribbons may distrust the new teacher.

Suddenly, Lichty elbows him hard in the arm.

“Hey, what the hell -- ?”

“Neil,” Graham says sternly, amusement in his eyes despite his serious expression betraying his tone. “I did say a requirement was to pay attention.”

“Uh…”

“Neil probably got lost in thought thinking about your question, Teach!” Lichty chimes in. “He’s only lived here around a year or two, so knowing him he was probably trying to think of someplace in town that nobody’s mentioned yet.”

Eternally grateful for the partial save, Neil chuckles nervously. “Yeah, sorry...because of me spacing out, I did kind of miss the places mentioned. Can someone tell me?”

“I said that someplace in town that made an impact on me was the jogging path on Heights Boulevard, and Chucks said the underpass by the convention center,” Lichty says.

Neil thinks he could honestly kiss Lichtendahl Tsery right now. “Oh, yeah, both of those are cool! I remember you taking me to see both of those. The path is near that park with the huge gazebo, right? And the underpass is the one by the Downtown Aquarium?”

“Yeah, yeah!”

“Nice. Okay, sorry. I know what I wanna say. Something that always stuck out to me was that overpass on the highway downtown, the one where the graffiti on it says ‘BE SOMEONE’.”

“Oh?” Graham asks. “Why did that stick out to you?”

“We...didn’t have anything like that back -- back home.”

“Home...judging from your accent, you’re Irish?”

“Aye -- Yes, sir.”

A couple of the girls giggle at his slip-up, and Neil inwardly curses. He hates forgetting to mask his natural voice; an American accent lets him blend in easier and doesn’t remind him of home. ‘ _Easier to forget, at times._ ’

“I see. And is that the only reason it stuck out to you?”

Neil blinks, forcefully dragging himself back to the conversation. “That, and there seems to be an ongoing battle between two graffiti artists over it. Sometimes it just says ‘BE ONE,’ but ‘SOMEONE’ is repainted soon enough after.”

“Oh, yeah,” pipes up Chucks in the back ( named so by everyone in the class because he’s apparently worn the same shoes since day one of freshman year ). “So I guess neither Neil nor Graham would know this, but the ‘SOME’ part of the graffiti is usually covered up whenever there’s a huge political wave going on, like around when Love Wins happened.”

Vaguely remembering that Love Wins was what everyone in America was calling the legalization of gay marriage, Neil nods with interest. “I guess it’s like a clash of creeds or messages, then, sure?”

“It seems that way,” says Graham. “Right, next person!”

“Oh, me! I think -- ”

And Neil has no ill will toward the girl who interjects, but his mind goes straight back outside, consumed by thoughts of one chartreuse-haired young man. Putting his chin in his hand, he examines Graham intently. He doesn’t _seem_ like the type of person that Ribbons would have a need to be concerned over. ‘ _Annoying to Ribbons, maybe, but I doubt he’d ever show that. Did Graham tell him something weird about the answers those three are searching for…?_ ’

A man of detail, Neil pays close attention for the last few minutes of class, especially when the girls bring up Ribbons again with a giggle. Graham asks them a few questions about him: what do they think of him ( “He’s really nice and a patient teacher when someone needs help studying!” ), is he always so serious and detailed ( “Oh, yeah, definitely! Ribbons gives one hundred and ten percent on everything, even if it’s something small.” ), and is his boyfriend popular ( “Ooh, Regene? Regene is sooo hot. They make such a powerful combination.” ). At the last question, Neil raises an eyebrow slowly. ‘ _...Is that it? It’s gotta be that, yeah._ ’

The bell rings shortly after this. Neil asks Lichty to wait for him outside. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Neil ambles up to the teacher’s desk. Graham looks up and Neil flashes what he hopes is a conspiratorial grin. “So...something interesting about Ribbons that the girls don’t know?”

“Oh? You have the ‘hidden lore,’ as they say?” Graham folds his hands on his desk and returns an easy, amused smile.

Neil chuckles. “Kinda. So...him and Regene aren’t _really_ dating, but everyone thinks they are, except like four people and all the teachers, and they play it up for kicks.” Neil winks at Graham as he turns to make his exit. “Didn’t feel right to not let you in on it, as the new teacher. Don’t give them up, yeah? It’s funny.”

As he leaves the classroom to Graham’s short bark of laughter, Lichty slings an arm around his shoulders and good-naturedly says that when he was zoning out Graham was asking them all about neat pieces of “geography” around the city since he’d just moved into town from Chicago.

Neil promises, then, to actually kiss him at some point, to which Lichty laughs and asks for it to not be in front of Christina Sierra.

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

Ribbons Almark is irritated with himself.

Slender fingers run over the spines of his neatly placed textbooks in his locker, organized alphabetically on the collapsible shelf inside. His next class does not have a textbook, so there is truly no need to linger, but he still pretends to be searching the metallic space for something. His eyes rove over his possessions: textbooks up top, novels and notebooks on bottom, a small caddy on the inside of the door that has a few notecards and two pens, a calendar near the bottom of said door with upcoming school events written on it, a ( voided ) paper ticket to the approaching dance next to that held on with a magnet for advertisement purposes, and a mirror in the middle framed by two pictures. One is of Regene and himself making hearts with their fingers, taken by Tieria, obviously decorated with a heart drawn in maroon permanent marker. The other is a more recent selfie Regene had taken of Ribbons, Tieria, Neil, Allelujah, and himself at dinner. He doesn’t notice, but his expression softens minutely as he glances at the photos.

He spends so long lost in thought that he jumps slightly when someone says behind him, “Uhm, did Tieria take that picture of you and Regene? Oh -- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you, Ribbons. It’s just -- uhm, I need in my locker, and you were kind of spacing out…”

He turns. “Ah, excuse me.” He steps back and closes his locker.

The girl who addressed him is the quiet artist girl from his homeroom. Her locker is beneath his on the bottom row. She nods politely and spins her combination. He recalls that she was in Tieria’s Photography class last year, which is likely how she recognized how they prefer to filter photos. “Uhm…” she says, “are you all right? I’ve never seen you space out at your locker, for all the years we’ve been neighbors.”

He glances at her, debating momentarily. His classmate is very timid, speaking to him sparingly after offering him the top locker when they met two years ago ( “Uhm, you’re taller, and they don’t really care who actually has what locker.” ). Occasionally she had asked him if he was fitting in, since he transferred into the school in sophomore year.

He decides that she’s earned his honesty. “I’m wasting time before heading into History.”

“Oh, yeah, the new teacher is in charge of your second period, right?”

“Correct.”

“I think I get it. He did brush you off yesterday...Uhm.” She pauses, shutting her locker and turning to face him. “Everyone likes you, and we have to have a reason for that, right? Everybody knows you’re the top student in our grade, and you encourage everyone to do their best. I...I was able to send a piece to that art competition last year because of you. So, uhm. Uhm…”

She trails off, as if unsure how to continue. He watches her patiently.

“Uhm. Your own confidence inspires others to also be confident. And...maybe you say some broad concepts at times, but I -- I think that’s a good thing. It makes others think about what you’re saying. U-Uhm -- ” she stammers, “so, uhm, basically, I think, if it’s you, you can make the new teacher eat his words. So, uhm...d-do your best and don’t let the new teacher get you down.” She blushes, and, apparently out of social stamina, runs off toward her next class.

Ribbons blinks slowly. ‘ _Perhaps a bit socially awkward...but she did try to embolden me. She’s made progress from the quiet girl she was when we met._ ’

The bell rings just as he enters the classroom, and he closes the door behind him. Graham looks up and opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, heavy and hurried footsteps sound in the hallway. Ribbons quickly sidesteps just before someone bursts into the room, out of breath and _running_ late.

Graham cocks an eyebrow and says, “Nice reflexes, Ribbons.” He sounds a little impressed.

Ribbons can’t entirely throw away the small feeling of victory, though he remains passive as he says, “Thank you.”

“Oh, damn, I didn’t mean to almost kill you, prez.”

Ribbons frowns slightly. “...Think nothing of it.” He moves then without another word to take his seat at the front...but someone is already sitting there.

“Sit anywhere, you two. I don’t like alphabetical seating.”

Louise Halevy, a pretty Spanish girl with long blonde hair, waves him over as Graham takes the name of the student who was running late. “Heya. We -- ” She points between herself and a plain-looking Japanese boy called Saji Crossroad ( the same one from his homeroom ). “ -- were saving you a seat. You like the front, right? Do you wanna sit next to us?”

“Sure. Thank you for thinking of me.”

She giggles. “You’re too formal, Ribbons; I keep telling you.”

“You’ll need to tell me at least once more, then.”

Saji chuckles. “Just let her go. She’s the type to boss everyone around.”

“Hey, I am _not_!”

Ribbons smiles faintly. While the two are entirely smitten with each other, they are prone to silly little arguments. He doesn’t quite see the point in them, but they seem to enjoy having them, and it’s entertaining to see them poke at each other without causing real harm. The three of them had grouped together for a current events paper for the substitute teacher the first week; Ribbons had agreed mainly because, while they tend to be a little too carefree, both of them care about their educations and can be counted on to pull their weight in projects. ( They had settled on a recent breakthrough in harnessing solar energy. )

Graham claps his hands once to grab the attention in the room. Louise and Saji fall quiet, though the latter lets loose a high-pitched chuckle when the former pokes him in the side. Graham glances at them with an amused expression. “Now, now. Settle down for just forty-five minutes.”

“Sorry, sir,” Saji says as Louise giggles.

Graham redirects his words to the rest of the room. “Well! I think you guys are the last class I need to introduce myself to, since I got here yesterday during homeroom. I’m Graham Aker, but just call me Graham. I’ll be your teacher for the rest of the year. I’m late because I had to finish up my time in the Air Force.”

Ribbons minutely raises an eyebrow in interest. He does not doubt VEDA’s selection process, but it is, statistically, uncommon for military personnel to accept an invitation to come teach. One hundred twenty-seven individuals have so far been invited to come to either this Academy or another one that is planned, but only five have agreed to come -- all at this establishment, and none for the future school.

“You were in the Air Force?” someone asks.

“Yup. I love flying. Though, I will say, it’s not as glamorous as the war movies make it seem.” Graham shrugs lightly.

The room is oddly quiet. Ribbons has quite a few questions about the situation, some of which can be answered by VEDA, but that cannot be done now, in front of a classroom. However, this class…

Noting the silence, Graham frowns. “Was it something I said?”

“ -- Were you involved in the air strike on Middle East the couple of years ago?” The question belongs to a girl with a thick Egyptian accent. Ribbons, in a private display of uncharacteristic immaturity, allows himself a small inwards smirk at how unabashedly aimed the question was and how uncomfortable it was likely to make the new teacher. He knows her well: she is the student council secretary, and she is utterly fearless when seeking information. He has always appreciated her blunt approach to inquiries -- it makes conversations much more productive between the two of them.

Graham looks startled for a moment. He does collect himself quickly, however -- Ribbons sees him taking in the expressions directed toward him -- no doubt filled with open curiosity and suspicion ( and worry, knowing Saji ). He redirects his attention back toward the young woman, and RIbbons knows of the mental processes at work: the secretary is so obviously from Egypt, near the conflict zone, and her persona betrays her past ( Ribbons knows the path that led her to this classroom, just as he knows all of the students’ -- she witnessed a bombing that left her with only her younger brother. She had agreed immediately to attend the Academy on invitation and has since paid close attention to events in the Middle East. He recalls her group project was about a recent dispute over oil exports ). “Modern History Class, huh?...

“No,” Graham says flatly. “Those were drones, like the reports said.” He shakes his head. “I almost think it would have been better if humans _were_ there. More conscience.”

“Is that part of the reason you accepted the invitation to teach here?” Ribbons feels the gazes of everyone on him immediately.

Graham raises his eyebrows. “And what do you know about the invitation process?”

“All of the students are invited, so it’s obvious the teachers must be, too,” Ribbons replies smoothly. “Other staff members are ex-military, and it wouldn’t be surprising if you had similar reasons.”

A murmur of confirmation passes through the class.

Graham folds his arms. “So...I don’t know how much you kids know about the American military, but we take an oath to protect the people. When the previous President talked about using us to ‘control’ protestors, many of us immediately said we wouldn’t be doing that. Actually, some of us were about to square off with the police for use of excessive force.”

The room is quiet again for a moment, before Saji ( surprisingly ) asks, “Why did you join the military, Mr. Graham?”

“Just Graham. I...wanted to fly. And I guess I was taken by war movies as a kid. Big mistake.”

“Not to protect people?” the Egyptian girl asks.

“Sometimes people’s reasons for joining the military are selfish. Most of the time, really. You can get opportunities to stuff you can’t as a civilian, like fighter jets. Other times people join to have their college tuition or families taken care of. These days, not many people actually have ‘protecting the people’ as their main reason.”

Someone else asks a question, menial this time, but Ribbons ignores it: his mind is suddenly otherwise occupied. ⌜ ▬ ▅ ▋ ▁ ▮ ▚ ▪ ▔ ▮ ▂ ▐ ▀ ▚ ▆ ▬ ▜ ▮ ▀ ▂ ▔ ▬ ▃ ▀ ▁ ▜ ▔ ▜ ▎ ▪ ▔ ▐ ▁ ▜ ▁ ▚ ▪ . ▔ ▀ ▂ ▗ ▇ ▔ ▉ ▪ ▂ ▪ ▚ ▬ ▗ ▔ ▮ ▂ ▐ ▀ ▚ ▆ ▬ ▜ ▮ ▀ ▂ ▔ ▚ ▪ ▋ ▁ ▮ ▚ ▪ ▊ . ⌟ Glancing at the clock, Ribbons breaks down the remaining twenty-seven minutes. Obtaining such data should be easy, especially if it can be non-specific. He does not wonder why VEDA needs such intelligence; he can find this out later, after he is used as a terminal for gathering.

Graham clears his throat. “All right, let’s get back on track. Clearly most of you keep up with current events pretty well. For today, though...I want you to think about those current events. Think about what led to those. You can share with the class -- because we’re gonna talk about the _future_.” He pauses, as his students re-orient their thoughts. “What do you think will happen -- in wars, in energy, in technology -- anything, and why?”

“Elon Musk is gonna clutter space with his satellites,” someone grumbles toward the back “They’re already interfering with long-range photography.”

“Space junk,” says Louise.

“ -- Junk now,” RIbbons interjects, “but...when mankind begins to build in the sky, all that material will be there, waiting to be used. Useless, defective trash, ready to be recycled into something.”

Graham raises his eyebrows. “And what do you think that ‘something’ will be?”

“Likely something to do with energy or the military. Whatever it will be, whichever country invents it first will lord it over the rest of the world.”

“I get where you’re coming from, but that’s a bit bleak, don’t you think?” Saji asks.

“He’s not wrong, though,” Graham says. “Militaries are always trying to outdo each other. It’s a big zero-sum game, with pride as the reward.”

“Pride is useless,” says the secretary. “Each man rots into dust, no matter his pride.”

Silently, Ribbons agrees. “And yet, the major powers of the world still point weapons at each other. Nuclear weapons, capable of melting the world, at the fingertips of just a human being, all in the name of freedom or whatever other political ideology exists. But for the true sake of power.”

“And if it was up to you,” Graham says, “what would you do, RIbbons? What would humanity’s first step in space be?”

Ribbons Almark does not feel his lips part. “Me?”

“Yup.”

“I -- ” He pauses, falling silent. ‘ _A lie...I must lie...The course is being altered, all for the sake of --_ ’ He gasps, a hand flying to his head, much to the startled murmurs of his classmates. He feels Louise’s hand on his shoulder, hears her asking if it’s another sudden headache. He registers Graham asking about it and Saji explaining that Ribbons has contracted abrupt migraines for around a year now, and he hears Graham tell someone to cut the lights. There is a thud -- something light but solid -- onto the desk, and Louise thanks someone for the water. Screwing his eyes shut tightly enough to see stars, Ribbons focuses on clearing his head, but -- 

⌜ ** _You already know the future. Speak of it. Your words lead to creation._** ⌟

And quite as suddenly as it came, the pain leaves him. Slowly, Ribbons blinks, shapes shifting into focus. Graham is crouching in front of his desk, and Louise still has her hand on his shoulder. Saji stands between them, wringing his hands. Delicately, he rubs his temples, glancing at the bottle of water on his desk.

“Take a drink, young man. Should I send you to the nurse’s office?” Graham speaks quietly, a consideration toward his headache.

Ribbons clears his throat and follows Graham’s instructions. “No, thank you. This...happens often enough. It’s passed now, I think.”

“This one was fast,” Louise remarks.

Ribbons makes a soft noise of affirmation. “I will be fine. Thank you all for your concern. We...should continue class.”

“Well...all right, then,” says Graham uncertainly. “But if you need to go to the nurse, just excuse yourself, all right? And if he needs to go, one of you two go with him.” He nods toward Louise and Saji. “If you’re late to your next class, just come see me and I’ll give you a note.”

They nod.

As Graham raises to his feet again, Ribbons speaks. “I’d...like to answer your question, Graham.”

Graham turns. “What question?”

“Humanity’s next step…” Ribbons looks at the fake wooden pattern on the table in front of him, tracing each grain printed on the plastic laminate with his eyes. The pressure to lie -- the _command_ \-- is gone. “I think...humanity should come together to build something to harness the sun, something that would make the energy available to everyone on the planet. Something like...a ring of solar panels around the earth, with energy collected at orbital stations and channeled down to earth via elevators, and transmitted to receptors with whatever available means.”

“But...something like that would be really delicate,” Saji objects. “Those towers would have to be made of metal that resists the sun’s radiation, but reinforced enough that earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, or any other natural disaster wouldn’t tear them down.”

“It is an opportunity,” says Ribbons. “Humanity’s finest come together to figure this out, for the betterment of mankind as a whole.”

“But...what about wars?” Louise asks timidly. “Surely some country would want to use that as an opportunity…”

“...There would need to be an armed, unaffiliated organization, dedicated to eliminating conflicts revolving around the power system. No -- eliminating all conflict. They would...need to have capabilities for all terrains, including space.”

“How many years would that take?” the secretary asks. “Humans can only send up four people at time, yes? And the space station is small and not equipped for that...I -- I think.” She falters. “I do not know much about space.”

“Yes, years…”

“And this organization you speak of,” says Graham. “They’d need better weaponry than every country on Earth. There’s no way you could hide something like that.”

“Not on earth,” Ribbons murmurs. “You hide it in the sky, where nations of the world would never think to look.”

“Why do you think that?”

Ribbons looks up, making direct eye contact with Graham. “Leaders of this planet are obsessed with controlling the ground beneath their feet. And so, when they begin to quarrel about a worldwide solar power system, a celestial being hiding among the stars would blindside them as they look into the sun for the first time.”

꧁✦⇠≣⇢✦꧂

Neil and Ribbons wind up walking to dinner together later that evening, partially by chance and partially because Ribbons had been kind enough to wake Neil from the bench he’d fallen asleep on while reading.

“So like, yesterday,” says Neil, holding the door for both of them as they reach the cafeteria, “and today, too, I guess was kind of looking out for Graham like you said, now, and I didn’t see anything odd. Though yesterday...sorry, give us a sec.” He pauses and lowers his voice, glancing around to make sure no one is listening to them too closely. “Some of the girls brought you up while talking to Graham, yeah? You’re a good tutor, you’re really detailed, you and Regene are really cute together, they say. And because of your text, sure, oh, that’s gotta be it, right, because you two aren’t allowed to date, I’m thinking? And after class, I go up to Graham. Told him you two are faking it for kicks and all the teachers know, and he didn’t know yet, being new, I figured. Don’t give you two up, I asked hi -- ”

“ -- And what did he say?” asks Ribbons, cutting off Neil’s _wordy_ story ( that accent and familiar extraneous homeland speech pattern comes out when he’s just woken up, Ribbons has come to realize ).

“Thought it was funny, so. Was laughing as I left.”

Ribbons seems to contemplate this, and Neil notes that his frown slightly lessens.

He sighs. “Listen. I don’t get it, do I? All three of you are keeping a secret from me, but that’s fine. Pasts are complicated, sure. ‘I’ll go with whatever plan Ribbons needs me to,’ I told Tieria before.”

“But _why_?” Ribbons asks, suspicious. “What do you _gain_?”

“Nothing, I guess!” Neil raises his eyebrows, somewhat understanding the actual issue. “I don’t get a damn thing, I don’t, but it doesn’t matter, does it? You three are my friends. Tieria’s the closest person to me, and you and Regene vaguely threatened me when I first made that friendship. I can keep my mouth shut, now, even though you leave me to piece things together. I don’t ask too many questions, do I?” Neil pauses, hesitating only briefly before placing a hand on Ribbons’s shoulder. “...Look, I know there’s _something_ going on that’s got you concerned about you three’s safety, so. But if it was easy to talk about, well, you would have already told me, yeah? So if I can help by doing as I’m told, I’ll do as I’m told.”

Ribbons’s lips press to a thin line. “You trust me far too easily, for someone who notices small details.”

“Nah, I don’t, not really,” says Neil, finally moving to pick up a tray for food. “ _Tieria_ trusts you. And I trust Tieria.”

Ribbons is unsure what to make of that.

Silently, save for speaking with the ladies working in the cafeteria, the two eventually make their way to their group’s usual table near a corner. In contrast, Tieria, Regene, and Allelujah are in the middle of an animated discussion about a TV show.

“He...He eats a dragon, you said?”

“Yeah!” exclaims Allelujah brightly. “It’s not as weird as it sounds. He gets new powers by eating stuff. Dissolving it in his...s-slime?” His expression falls. “I guess that’s where it dissolves…”

“A slime wouldn’t have many body parts, I’d expect,” says Regene drily.

“But why would a dragon volunteer to be eaten?” asks Tieria, brow furrowed.

“Oh -- ” Neil cuts in, putting his tray on the table. “Are you guys talking about that anime _Slime_?”

“Yeah, yeah! Have you seen it, Neil? I’m trying to get them to watch it.”

“I’ve seen it. It’s not as bad as you’re thinking. In that universe, being given a name means that you’re bestowed power by the person giving you the name, so. The dragon, being really powerful, makes this little slime stupidly strong by giving him a name. And the dragon agrees to be eaten because the slime can make this...pocket dimension, I guess, in his stomach, and he carries the dragon out of the cave where he was imprisoned.” Neil is sitting by the end of his explanation and captivates the interest of Regene and Tieria, who were evidently not quite as curious until Neil had weighed in.

“Sounds different,” Regene comments.

“I’ll try it,” says Tieria, though their tone is definitely unsure.

“You know what?” Regene pokes at his bright orange jello uninterestedly with the end of his spoon. “If slime can get superpowers by eating random _stuff_ , I should get superpowers by eating slime.”

“But that’s jello, not slime -- ”

“Jello is basically slime -- ”

“It doesn’t have nor acquire the properties of -- ”

“It’s a solid yet gelatinous substance, Tieria; what properties are you _looking for_?”

Allelujah is kind enough to stifle his snicker with a cough.

Neil, however, has no such reservations, to which Tieria frowns at him deeply. Ignoring their glare, he instead chooses to address their brother. “Gen, what’s your favorite flavor of jello?”

Regene pauses in his torture of the wobbling mass. “Green,” he says, looking Neil dead in the eyes.

Neil glances between the snarky vice-president and Ribbons, who has at some point sat down next to him. “...Is that supposed to be an innuendo?”

The only response he receives is Regene’s eyebrows waggling at him twice. ( Though he doesn't reply, Neil can tell -- subtly, Ribbons doesn’t find the joke all that funny and seems to _politely_ not hear it. )

“Isn’t green the color, but the flavor is lime?” Allelujah asks, oblivious.

“It doesn’t taste like lime…”

Shrugging at Tieria’s observation, Neil pushes his bowl of green jello over to Regene and rescues the latter’s pile of defeated gelatin. “Give me that, though you’ve all but reduced it to soup.”

Regene sticks his tongue out before actually starting to eat the trade.

The table falls into a discussion of the anime, with Ribbons being mostly quiet, though he _does_ pay attention, and Neil notices him typing on his phone after asking for the full name of the show. Around halfway through Neil’s plate of noodles, however, Allelujah interrupts the conversation.

“Hey, isn’t that the new teacher? What’s he doing?”

All five of them turn to see Graham looking around the busy dining hall, seeming a bit lost.

“...Does he not have anywhere to sit?”

“Well, in that case -- ” Allelujah raises his voice a bit and calls to Graham: “Sir! Sir, come sit with us!”

Neil swears he catches a whisper of a scowl on Ribbons’s face, but if he did see such a thing it’s gone far too quickly for his observation to hold any credibility.

“Hm? Oh -- ” Graham comes over to their table, hearing Allelujah but recognizing Neil and Ribbons. “‘Evening, you guys. And you, young man, thank you for your invitation, but I don’t think we’ve met…?”

“My name is Allelujah, sir. Allelujah Haptism.”

“Allelujah. I’m Graham. Are you sure you want me to sit with you?” The teacher looks at them uncertainly, noting Allelujah’s warm smile and the twins’ curious gazes.

“Yeah! It’s...It’s awkward being new, and, uhm...it’s okay, right?”

Taking pity on his friend, Neil easily replies, “Yeah, Alle, it’s fine.” He scoots closer to Tieria. “Oi, shove over.” Subsequently both of them toss their bags under the table to clear off some space for their sixth companion.

“Thank you,” says Graham as he puts his tray down. He then glances between Tieria and Regene. “And may I ask who you two are…?”

Regene grins and leans on his elbows. “Regene, _sir_.”

Graham raises his eyebrows. “Regene? The same Regene the girls in my classes tell me is the vice president of the Student Council?”

“The very same. And that’s my sister, Tieria,” Regene points.

Tieria nods politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Graham.”

If the teacher is taken aback by the depth of Tieria’s voice, he doesn’t show it. Neil’s opinion of him rises.

As he removes his bag to sit with them, a tiny robot keychain clacks against the table.

“ -- Is that the RX-78?”

The entire table turns in surprise towards Ribbons, who is, in an attempt to remain aloof, fighting back an unusual crease of his brow.

“Ye -- Yes, it is,” says Graham. “Do you...like Gundam?”

Ribbons hesitates for a bit too long, because Regene giggles and says, “Ribbons is a _huge_ Gundam nerd. He could tell you all about the intricacies of mobile suits and how they work, if you let him.”

Neil pokes a fork into his pasta before something hits him. “Hey, Ribbons, don’t you have that model kit of the RX-78 in your room? I think you painted it gray...er...I think you modded it, too?”

“You build model kits?” Graham asks curiously.

Elbowing Regene away from him, Ribbons nods. “I...kitbash frequently. I take parts of different model kits and create something altered or new.”

“And you modded Grandpa Gundam?”

Ribbons looks faintly astonished that Graham is so interested. “Yes...I renamed it the 0 Gundam.” He pronounces this _oh-Gundam_. “It’s painted in gray to show it doesn’t have a designated pilot, because it’s a prototype...It also uses a solar reactor as its power source.”

“Instead of the Minovsky ultracompact fusion reactor?” Graham asks.

“Yes,” says Ribbons. “The Minovsky reactor is too easily monopolized because it uses helium-3, which is rare on Earth. Companies and militaries could easily gatekeep access, whereas using a solar reactor allows for wider use. The sun isn’t going anywhere for a few billion years, and development of a solar power source could be more easily tested and refined.”

“But the lore of the Anno Domini line of suits is that safe limitless reactors can only be developed near Jupiter, the same place where there’s a lot of helium-3.”

“The gravity of Jupiter attracts a particle with a single magnetic pole, and that particle is used in the part of the solar reactor that blankets harmful radiation. There _are_ machines that use false solar reactors, but those have lower energy output and require recharginging, just as the Minovsky reactor requires refueling. The false reactors also initially emitted harmful radiation.”

“That’s just another type of gatekeeping, though,” Graham points out. “You’d need an expedition to Jupiter to make even one solar reactor that wouldn’t be harmful to humans.”

“It weeds out those with evil intentions,” Ribbons argues. “If a number of false solar reactors were produced, it would likely be for just militaristic purposes, with no real regard to the environment or civilians. However, if a true reactor was produced, the organization that took the time to ensure human survival would reasonably have higher goals or even morals.”

“But do you think the world at large would realize that?” Graham inquires seriously.

Ribbons hesitates. “...No. Humans are too self-centered and the media too focused on profit that is paid for by political agenda. If such an organization produced the technology and did not share it openly, for whatever reason, it would not be long before rival groups leaked that information to the public. Public opinion could then be swayed to demonize not only that organization but the technology itself. The reactors themselves would become the villains, painted with words so that they would threaten the common and peaceful way of life, until those who want them would finally have them, and that is the moment where they would be redeemed. The journey to acquiring them, though, would probably be some pretense of peace, ‘uniting’ the world against the organization while underneath a cold war waged between factions to obtain the reactors.”

Graham leans back, appearing resigned. His brows are slack, and he presses his lips together, deep in thought, as if considering how to reply. Ribbons is watching him, his gaze at an intensity that gives away his genuine absorption in the conversation. Neil stirs his straw in his drink idly, watching the two of them study each other, sensing a weird, growing respect between them. He feels Tieria shift beside him, likely to glance over at Regene, who has been oddly silent. Allelujah has also been quiet, but Neil assumes that, like himself, Allelujah has been entranced by the odd duo and their discussion.

“...You have a rather pessimistic outlook on the world,” Graham finally responds. ‘ _For someone so young_ ’ remains unsaid, but Neil has been acutely aware for a while when adults start to pity a younger age group.

‘ _Sometimes you just see shit that you never wanted to,_ ’ Neil thinks, taking a long drink through his straw. ‘ _Nobody ever asks about that part._ ’

Ribbons uncharacteristically looks away. “But you agree with my reasoning.”

Graham raises a blond eyebrow. “Okay, you got me there.”

The table pauses for a moment, before Tieria speaks quietly. “Graham, you may be unaware of exactly everyone who attends this school. Various children from many cultures, backgrounds, and parts of the world are invited here, all for different reasons. A lot of them have seen things that even most adults don’t even think of. Ribbons...is our president because most everyone believes he understands the things they’ve been through. He’s easy to talk to, because it feels like he’s always listening.”

“That’s exactly it,” chimes in Neil. “And...since you teach histories, you might get a lot more conversations like this, now. Rumor has it the guy you replaced couldn’t handle dealing with the fact that a lot of us are from warzones.”

“I see…” Graham says. “I apologize, then. My tone might have been presumptuous. I had been thinking that...it’s sort of shameful. Mankind’s cruelty is so predictable that even a teenager can see it. Makes me feel that I somehow failed, in a way.”

“You personally?” Allelujah asks. “How so?”

Graham blinks, noticing the five pairs of eyes earnestly trained on him. “Well...I was a part of the military. The military does things that make _me_ uncomfortable, things that some of you kids may have seen, I’m realizing. There might be someone here who witnessed an air raid that my own squad had a hand in, even if it was just us remotely piloting drones.”

“I think...regretting the past won’t make the future better,” says Allelujah solemnly. “But I also think...respecting your past can help you make better decisions in the future.”

“-- Everyone at this school is here because Professor Schenberg thought they could help make a better future, in some way.” Regene’s voice is confident, yet Neil somehow thinks it doesn’t quite carry the reassuring air that it should. “That includes the teachers. You believe you did bad things, right? So using that experience to guide others away from those decisions is probably the reason you’re here. Or did you accept the invitation for some other reason?”

“Is that the mysterious ‘pattern’ all the gossip columns are looking for when they write rumors about this school?” Graham shakes his head. “I’m here because I want to be, and that’s the gist of it.” He picks up his fork, twisting some ( probably cold ) noodles around it. “I see why Professor Schenberg founded this school, though. I knew a professor who would have agreed with his ideals. It’s...well.” Graham smiles, just a bit, a minor curve of his lips that Neil thinks is wistful with the slightest ounce of hope. “I hope it makes a difference.

“But besides that...thanks for letting me sit with you guys. It’s more interesting than I thought it would be.”

For just the smallest second, Neil is certain he sees an unfamiliar, gentle light in Tieria's eyes. It reminds him of someone giving a genuine smile, the kind of smile that Tieria, who is usually stonefaced, never shows to anyone...or, more specifically, that Tieria is never driven to feel. Neil wonders, though, what gave them such a feeling. They don’t find another's acquiescence to be amusing for the sake of their defeat, but...

' _How unusual of her, to be so open with her emotions,_ ' thinks Neil, placing his chin on his hand and gazing over at Tieria. ' _...But how like her, to feel happy for just two people managing to communicate._ '

That smile makes him feel warm, and it almost covers up the unpleasantness of the now-ice-cold noodles on his plate.

( The conversation turns to more mundane things about the school: favorite classes, important events, clubs, etc., with everyone except Allelujah admitting to being in a club or organization. Graham seems interested in why Allelujah isn’t in a club, but he clams up rather obviously. After dinner is over, Tieria stays behind, asking to speak to Graham, much to the absolute utter confusion of all four of the others. Ribbons, Neil, and Allelujah all look to Regene for some kind of explanation, but he can only offer them a baffled shrug. Neil then heads back first, figuring that Tieria will tell him later. )

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【TIERIA :); 8:46 PM: Graham is going to sponsor a Gundam club. We can set up our consoles in his classroom after school on any day except Tuesdays.】

【ME; 8:50 PM: whoa what the heck】

【TIERIA :); 8:52 PM: Allelujah isn’t in any clubs because of his condition, but he obviously wants to try one. I thought if we made a club with all of us he’d be more comfortable.】

【ME; 8:56 PM: ur rly sweet tieria im sure alle will love it】

【TIERIA :); 8:57 PM: I just made a suggestion, that’s all.】

Neil finds himself smiling broadly at the phone, knowing that if he argues he’ll probably land himself in trouble. He sends back just a smiley face in return. Tieria will take care of the rest, including breaking the good news to Allelujah. For now, Neil opens a study playlist and settles down to do some homework.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to raud for the beautiful edits & suggestions in this chapter.
> 
> this chapter is dedicated to ls00, for partnering with me in my valentine's day mbon event!
> 
> a huge thank-you to tieriaerde & idoldigidestined for the second chapter reviews!
> 
> i apologize for the huge delay between chapters 2 & 3\. graham & ribbons gave me such fits, outside of my life exploding ( i gave myself a concussion in november, and my thought processes were very scrambled until recently ).

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks for this chapter goes to:
> 
> raudelbur, for being a wonderful student and an excellent beta reader,
> 
> and johnnie, for being a source of light for me when not many people in our crew are enthusiastic over fanfiction.


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